Wicked White

by Michelle A. Valentine

  “Did you find it yet?” Birdie asks as she sits next to me on the living room floor of the trailer I grew up in while Gran raised me.

  I shake my head as I continue to sift through the box of papers in front of me. “We’ll never find the deed to this place at this rate.”

  Birdie shoves her blond hair out of her face as she continues to dig through the box in front of her. “No shit. Obviously Gee-Gee didn’t believe in a filing system. Are you sure it can’t be anywhere else?”

  “No,” I reply. “All of Gran’s paperwork is in these two boxes. It has to be in here somewhere.”

  I flip through a couple more papers, and then bingo! “Found it!”

  “Thank God,” Birdie says as she shoves the box away and relief floods her dark brown eyes. “I was beginning to think it was a lost cause.”

  I take the paper out and examine the deed closely. Willow Acres has been in my family for generations. It all started when my great-great-grandfather opened up part of his farm for his daughter and her husband to pull a trailer onto the property to live. Since then the trailer park has expanded to now hold fifteen trailers, with most of the tenants living here since I was a kid. My place isn’t glorious; it’s no mansion by any means, but this one-thousand-square-foot trailer has been home to me since my mother ran off when I was four and never came back.

  “Good, now we can take it down to Mr. Stern so he can get everything switched over to your name, and we can grab lunch while we’re out.”

  I sigh as I think about the near-negative balance in my checking account. It hasn’t been exactly easy since I returned here. I left almost two years ago to move to New York because I’d convinced myself that once I got there I’d be a big star on Broadway someday, but as of last week I was still just a server at a small restaurant in Brooklyn. Paying for my one-way ticket back home nearly broke the bank. If I stay here much longer, I’m going to need a job.

  When Birdie takes in my silence, she wraps her slender arm around my shoulders. “Come on, Iris. It’ll be my treat. I know you’re starving. We’ve been digging through this junk all day.”

  Almost as if on cue my stomach rumbles loud enough for Birdie to hear, and she raises her eyebrows at me to say told ya before she smacks my leg. “All right. Off your ass. We’re eating.”

  I laugh at my best friend as she snaps to her feet and then pulls me up. Birdie and I go back, way back. We had that whole sandbox love thing going on. Her grandmother, Adele, lives next door to our place, which meant Birdie was my number-one playmate when she came here every weekend while her mom partied hard. As we grew up we stayed close, because after a while, her mother left her with her grandmother too. We understood each other.

  I shove my hair away from my face as I straighten my black T-shirt.

  “Girl, I love those cutoff shorts. Where did you get them?” Birdie asks.

  “Oh.” I stare down at my too-short shorts, feeling embarrassed to be wearing something so skimpy, but they were the last clean bottoms I brought with me. “I made them. I cut off an old pair of jeans I found at a thrift store to make them.”

  “Creative.” She fishes her keys from her purse. “Do you think we should stop at the library and see if you’ve gotten any responses for the ad we put on the Internet for the empty trailer?”

  I nod as I follow her out the front door, locking it behind us. “Yeah. I could definitely use the rent money. Hopefully, someone responds.”

  “It sucks that we don’t get any Internet out here,” Birdie says as she unlocks her Corolla and hops inside.

  Once inside with her, I buckle my seat belt. “I know. I miss having the modern conveniences of the city. My cell service doesn’t even pick up the Internet out here. We’re so behind in the times.”

  The car’s engine cranks alive and Birdie backs up and starts toward the road. “As soon as you get the deed swapped over into your name for the park and are ready to go back to New York, I want to go with you.”

  “Really?” I can’t contain the excitement in my voice. “When did you decide this?”

  She shrugs. “After hearing you talk about the city all week long and how much I’m missing out on by sticking around this little town. So, when you go back and get settled, let me know and I’ll hop a plane.”

  I frown. “I never meant that it’s not nice here—it is—I just don’t want this life, you know? I want to see my name on a grand marquee for doing something I love, not be stuck in the trailer park for the rest of my life.”

  “And you will,” she assures me. “It’ll just be even better that I’ll be there with you to see it all happen.”

  Willow Acres sits just outside the small village of Sarahsville, Ohio. The largest city around is Cambridge, and even that is a solid thirty-minute drive for us. We don’t have much here. Most stores are mom-and-pop-type places that are privately owned. It really is like stepping back in time.

  Which is exactly why I had to get out of here.

  Birdie pulls up along the curb to the only attorney in town, Mr. Stern, who Gran went to for all her legal needs. I grab the deed and open the door. “It shouldn’t take long. I’m just dropping this off.”

  Mr. Stern’s office was once a private home. An old blue two story with a rickety, white picket fence and a small sign hanging from a wooden stake: William Stern, Attorney at Law.

  I make my way up the sidewalk and into his office, where his plump secretary greets me with a kind smile as soon as I push open the front door. “Hi, Iris. It’s so good to see you. William told me you were in town to handle Gee-Gee’s estate.”

  I simply nod, hating the way that everyone’s life seems to have gone on around me while the pain of losing Gran is still very fresh to me. “Is Mr. Stern in, Melody? I have the deed for him.”

  Melody’s light brown braid hangs around her shoulder while her bangs are teased so high it’s like she’s stuck in the eighties. Like most people in this town, I’ve known Melody my entire life. She was the PTA president when I was in elementary school and is always into everyone’s business.

  She stands and takes the deed when I hand it to her, laying it on her desk before firing more questions at me. “So what was New York like? Gee-Gee said you were doing big things up there. I’d sure like to visit that place sometime, but it’ll probably never happen. Big cities scare me.”

  “It’s not that bad once you learn your way around,” I say as the horn honks outside. “I’m sorry, Melody, I’ve got to jet. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  “All right,” she says as I wave and push my way out the front door.

  I hop back in the car and Birdie’s grinning at me like an idiot. “You can say thank you anytime.”

  “For what?” I ask with a chuckle in my voice. “I’m supposed to thank you for your impatience?”

  She shakes her head. “No, for me saving your ass from Melody Schaffer. You know she would’ve talked you to death if I didn’t save you. She’s been chomping at the bit to corner you so she could invite herself to New York for a visit. This town loves to gossip. No one’s ever took off to the big city like you before, so you win the prize for being most talked about around here. She would’ve kept digging at you until she got some kind of dirt she could break her neck telling anyone that would listen.”

  The thought of having Melody and her family of five in my tiny one-room apartment in Brooklyn is enough to make me shudder. And Birdie is right. Melody is the one person in this town you don’t want knowing any of your business. “Thank you.”

  Birdie grins and slides a pair of sunglasses on her face. “Welcome. Now where to eat?”

  After we get our fill at the local diner, we drive to the closest library, which is in Caldwell, the next town over, and sit down at an empty computer terminal and check the listing we posted earlier in the week for the vacant trailer. To my surprise there are a few replies in my e-mail. Two are people who obviously aren’t really interested, as they respond to the ad by asking me for pictures of myself.
Gross. Another I attempt to reply to, but the message fails every time, while the last only leaves a phone number and nothing more.

  After a long moment of debate on what to do with the number, I sigh and close out the web page.

  “What are you doing?” Birdie asks. “Don’t you think you should call that number?”

  “No,” I answer immediately. “Who replies with only a phone number? That’s weird and creepy as hell.”

  She shrugs. “Yeah, but it could mean money.”

  I furrow my brow at her. “Do you really want to take a chance and let some crazy serial killer move in next to me and your grandmother?”

  She rolls her eyes. “I highly doubt that’s going to happen. Besides, whoever this person is can’t be any crazier than Jeremy. That guy is completely off his hinges.”

  Jeremy is the newest tenant at Willow. He moved into one of Gran’s rentals right before she had her first heart attack six months ago, and she didn’t have the strength to deal with kicking him out when all the people around him complained. He’s rude and a constant nuisance to all the other tenants with his loud-ass cars and parties. He’s one of the things on my checklist to deal with while I’m here getting things settled.

  My shoulders sag, and I wish I wasn’t this desperate for money, but the truth is I’m completely broke. Not only did Mr. Stern inform me at the will reading that I get everything that my gran owned, I get to incur her debt too. Apparently, she’d forgotten to pay property taxes on Willow Acres for quite some time, and the state is looking to collect its money. If I can’t come up with the money, the state will come and take the property, and I’m not sure where that leaves everyone who lives there. I can’t allow them to be thrown out of their homes.

  The only way I have a shot in hell at saving the place is to make sure that every single trailer is inhabited. So, like it or not, this crazy number is my only real lead to finding an interested, paying tenant.

  I open the web browser and reopen the e-mail so I can jot the number down. “You’re right, Birdie. Something is better than nothing at this point.”

  She wraps her arm around my shoulders. “Don’t worry, Iris. We’ll find someone soon.”

  It’s crazy, but all my hope now rests on this one strange number.

  ACE

  After blowing up a map of Ohio on my phone, the small town of Sarahsville catches my eye. It’s almost like fate calling to me, since my mother’s name was Sarah. What better place to hide in? It’ll almost be like she’s protecting me.

  I make one last major purchase with my black American Express, a black Harley-Davidson Sportster, because it’s better than hitchhiking. I also pick up a guitar from a local pawn shop and withdraw five thousand dollars from the bank. Hopefully Columbus will be the last place they can trace my whereabouts to before I disappear. Walmart is last on my list to hit before I take off. I purchase a prepaid cell with cash and then look online to find a place to rent. I find only one, and it seems like it’s probably a dump, which makes it perfect. No one would ever expect me to be living in some broken-down trailer park in the middle of nowhere.

  I quickly fire a reply to the ad and leave only my phone number before I set off on the hour-and-a-half trip to my new little city.

  The ride is cold, and maybe I should’ve rethought my plan on using a motorcycle as my form of transportation, considering it’s October in Ohio. The temperature here can fluctuate all over the place this time of the year. It’s been a long time since I’ve lived here, and I want to kick myself for not remembering this isn’t the California weather that I’m used to.

  I turn off the main interstate and head down a county highway for the last thirty minutes of my drive and then coast into the small town of Sarahsville, reading the sign alerting me to the fact there’s a population of only 168 people. I may have found a more anonymous place than expected.

  I pull into a local grocery and park my bike. The Oakley sunglasses covering my eyes darken my vision as I step inside, so I push them up on top of my head. A cowbell hanging over the door rings to announce my presence.

  “Hello?” I call, a little uneasy being alone in here.

  “Be with you in a minute,” an older man’s voice calls from a little room behind the counter.

  A moment later, a gray-headed man pokes his head out of the room. “Can I help you, son?”

  I clear my throat. “I’m looking for Willow Acres. Can you tell me where to find it?”

  “Willow Acres, you say?” He steps out of the room and I take in the lanky man who’s probably in his sixties. His faded flannel shirt and jeans about two sizes too big tell me he’s either lost a lot of weight suddenly or he doesn’t have enough money to buy proper sizes. He narrows his green eyes at me, causing his bushy white eyebrows to pull inward. “You ain’t from the state, are you, because if you are, you’ll just have to find it on your own.”

  I laugh at the old man’s protective tone. “No, sir. I’m just looking for a place to rent.”

  He scratches at his day-old beard. “Well, in that case, I’ll write down the directions for you. The name’s Pete.”

  I extend my hand to him, which he gives a hearty shake almost immediately. “Ace Johnson.”

  Pete grabs a scrap piece of paper from under his counter and draws me a detailed map of how to get out to the trailer park. After explaining the directions to me thoroughly, he hands me the paper. “Tell Iris that Pete sent ya. I’ll warn you, Willow Acres isn’t much to look at, but Iris Easton is a good girl and she’ll be fair with you, so try not to judge it too harshly when you first pull up.”

  I give him a small smile. “Yes, sir.”

  I take the paper, feeling pretty confident that I can find my way, and stuff it into the back pocket of my jeans. I fire up my bike and take the roads as directed, and it takes me only about five minutes to make it the entrance of Willow Acres as labeled by an old, faded green sign with white lettering.

  The trailers in the park are much older than I expected—most appearing like something built back in the seventies and not much upkeep done on them since then. It’s clean around the place, no garbage or anything lying around, but everything just looks so worn down. Windows are taped shut with duct tape to fix broken glass panes on a couple of the places, and it makes me think twice about wanting to stay here. It makes me think some seedy characters live here, and I have no desire to live in a crack den.

  I wanted to hide, but this place may be too obscure and backwoods even for me.

  I make it to the second trailer in the lot. It’s all white with a little plot of flowers surrounding the small patch of Astroturf that’s laid out over the concrete in front of the place. A green-and-white sign matching the one out front hangs by the door and reads Office. I park my bike out front and walk up the small wooden porch steps and knock on the front door.

  “Just a minute!” A woman calls as I hear some rustling inside.

  The lock on the door clicks and the door opens, revealing one of the most breathtaking women I’ve ever seen. Her long, dark hair falls over her shoulders in soft waves; her makeup is light, revealing her naturally smooth complexion, which causes her green eyes to sparkle. Her V-cut T-shirt and tight-fitting jeans hug her body’s hourglass curves like a glove.

  I stand there completely tongue-tied, checking her out from head to toe. It’s not until I take in the expression on her face that I start to worry. Her full pink lips gape open in an O shape as she stares at my face. I pause, suddenly afraid that this place might not be as far out in the sticks as I hoped if she does recognize me.

  Instantly, I’m attracted to this woman and I become angry with myself for feeling this way. Now is not the time to be thinking about a woman. I don’t plan on sticking in one place too long, and I’ll be damned if I allow some beauty to get into my head and make me change my plans. If she gets too close and I get too comfortable, I’ll reveal all my secrets to her, and I can’t let that happen.

  The best thing I can do is be a
complete dick to her and keep things between us strictly business.

  She shakes her head as if pulling herself out of a daze before she licks her lips. “Can I help you?”

  I pull the sunglasses from my eyes in order to make eye contact with her. “I’m here to see Iris about the trailer for rent? I e-mailed earlier with my number, but I figured I’d take a chance and stop by to see if it was still available?”

  “You?” she questions. “You want to move into one of my rentals? Here?”

  “Yeah? What of it?” I fire back.

  She does a double take of my clothing and then glances out to my bike parked outside of her place. “You just don’t seem like the type.”

  I shake my head. “Don’t pretend like you know me or my type. Look, I don’t have all day. Do you have the place or not?”

  She flinches at my tone. “I do, but you don’t have to be a complete asshole to me.”

  Her eyes narrow, and for a moment I think she’s about to tell me to hit the road for my rudeness, but she doesn’t. Instead, she sighs and shakes her head before reaching to the left of the door, grabbing a set of keys that must’ve been hanging on the wall. “Come on. I’ll show you to the trailer.”

  I follow behind her to the blue-and-white trailer next to the office, the very first on the lot. Even though I shouldn’t, I allow my eyes to fixate on the sway of her little round ass in those jeans as she walks in front of me. It’s like the devil put a temptation in the form of this sexy little vixen before me to force me to give up and go running back to the label and beg their forgiveness.

  When she turns around, I jerk my gaze away from her and focus anywhere but on her. I want to appear absolutely put off by her, so she’ll hate me and stay as far away from me as possible.

  Iris makes her way up the two little wooden steps and unlocks the rickety front door with its tiny triangle window. She shoves open the door and steps inside, and I go in after.

  The first thing that hits me is the musty odor, like it hasn’t been lived in for years and the last tenant was a seventy-year-old crazy cat lady. The next thing is the stained burgundy carpet and clashing flamingo-pink furniture and decor. Like the outside, it’s clean in here, just very old and outdated.