by Cathy Lamb
“So you’re leaving again, Katie?” The Boar said, his voice sounding like a meat grinder. “You got stuff to do, places to be? Can’t spend even a second helping your husband? Shit. No wonder I don’t want you in bed anymore—look at you. You’re as fat as a cow.”
Men are so unoriginal in their criticisms of the women in their lives sometimes. What came out of J.D.’s mouth had come out of Robert’s, too.
I heard Katie coming toward the kitchen, so I scampered away from the door. Katie walked in, her expression calm and composed, as if she and her husband had just exchanged information on what kinds of vegetables they’d use for the garden that summer.
She smiled at me, her lips tight, her eyes watery, then wrapped foil around the pie. I heard The Boar’s heavy footsteps coming towards the kitchen, and I braced myself, the old fear coursing through me even though J.D. wasn’t Robert. Why were men such beasts?
“I ain’t taking this shit, Katie,” he roared, slamming open the kitchen door.
In spite of myself, I started to shake. The Boar wasn’t tall, but he was thick and fat, with a slight beard and black hair. Even though he looked mean, I had to admit that his face was movie-star good-looking if you could get by the fat and the pissed-off look. A broad forehead, straight nose, sculpted lips, light blue eyes that looked straight at you.
Yep. I could see what Aunt Lydia meant when she said he could charm the skin off a snake.
When The Boar saw me, he froze, then shot a look in Katie’s direction. “I can see we have a guest, Katie,” he snapped. “It would be nice to know when someone is in my house.”
I leaned against the wall for a little support. His fists looked to be about the same size as Robert’s.
“I didn’t want to wake you, J.D.,” Katie said. “This is Julia Bennett. She’s Lydia’s niece.”
He ran a hand through his thick black hair, his blue eyes raking me from head to foot, pausing on my breasts, my hips, my legs. “Well, now,” he said softly. “Lydia’s niece. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He extended his hand. I paused, not wanting to touch him, but knew if I refused it would just make things worse for Katie. One time Robert had extended his hand to me after he’d told me I had embarrassed him at a party. I had argued with him. He became enraged, I tried to leave his apartment, and he freaked out, then offered me his hand in apology.
As soon as Robert had my hand in his, he yanked me to his chest, pulled my hair back with a rough hand and told me never, ever to walk out on him again or he would kill me. Did I hear that? he had yelled, right into my face. He would kill me.
Then he’d smashed his mouth on mine, and we had sex, right there, on his living room floor. Him on top, of course. It didn’t seem to bother him at all that I kept saying no, that I kept pushing him away, that my head kept knocking against the wood floors, my whole body rocking back and forth as he forced himself into me, time and time again. He didn’t even bother to kiss me, just glared into my eyes the whole time, until he finally came.
It was as if my fighting back made sex all the better for him. To top off that romantic moment he threatened to kill me again. The next day he told me he had been kidding. It wasn’t long after that that I was throwing my wedding dress into a tree.
So when J.D. extended his hand, I took it, then tried to let go as soon as possible, but he gripped my fingers. I saw his eyes skate down my body again and felt as if a wet, slick snake had slithered over my naked skin.
“So. Aren’t you a pretty thing! You got curves all over that body, don’t you?” he asked me.
I felt like vomiting.
“So where ya from, Julia?” He still held on to my hand. I felt my hand grow sweaty.
“I’m from back east,” I told him.
“Back east? Huh. How hoity-toity. What brings you out here, then?”
For a moment, my throat constricted. J.D.’s nearness, the harsh tone, and the overbearing personality overwhelmed me, but I was struck by the irony. I was becoming very close friends with a woman in the exact same situation I had just run from.
“I…I’m visiting my aunt.” I stared at our hands. Katie obviously noted it, too, as she said, “You want to let go of her hand now, J.D.?”
He cast a seriously vile look his wife’s way, but let go of my hand, then put both hands on his hips and glared at Katie. She stood her ground.
“You friends with my Katie here?” he bit out. “You friends with this woman who doesn’t give a rat’s ass about taking care of her husband?”
He was ugly. So, so venomously ugly.
“I’m good friends with your wife,” I clarified. “Well, we should be off, Katie,” I tried to sidestep around J.D., but he stepped to the left when I stepped to the right. When I stepped to the left, he stepped to his right.
My knees started getting that weak feeling.
“What’s your hurry? I hardly know you. Did you bring your husband with you, Julia?” he asked, his rancid breath coating me. I took a step back. I could feel Katie behind me.
“No,” I said, real soft.
“No?” He arched a black eyebrow at me. “No husband, or no, you didn’t bring your husband with you?”
“I don’t have a husband. I haven’t yet seen that husbands can offer a woman anything of value.” Where I found the courage to mouth off like that, I don’t know. All I knew was that J.D. was one sick, mean son of a bitch.
I saw the storm clouds in his eyes. “So you’re a smart-ass, huh? Just like my Katie. Woman like you looks like she would know what buttons to push with her man, like my Katie does.”
“That’s enough, J.D.,” Katie said quietly, but firmly.
“That’s enough, J.D.,” he mocked. “I sure as hell don’t ever get enough from you. But your friend here”—again the rake of his eyes—“she looks like she would know how to give a man enough, even though she’s got the mouth of a shrew.”
I took a quick step to the right, felt Katie’s hand in my back, and we pushed around The Boar, gathered up the children, who were cowering on the living room couch, and trooped out the door, The Boar’s laughter following us out, sounding like the laugh of the devil high on speed.
“You forgot to give me my lunch, Katie-bitch!” he bellowed.
Katie, the kids, and I tumbled into the pickup truck. Neither I nor Katie talked much on the way. I shook, my hands laced tightly together. Tears slid down Katie’s cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Me too.” I unlaced my hands, cold skeleton bones held together like tiny vises, and reached out to hold her hand. We drove that way to Lara’s.
8
Lara’s house was small but very neat and tidy. It’s a ranch house with the same floor plan that millions and millions of people live in all over the country.
The walls were all painted a light beige, the carpet was beige, the furniture slipcovered in beige. A minister’s budget does not allow for new furniture, so Lara had whipped out her sewing machine (“I practically learned to sew before I knew how to talk. Every good preacher’s wife teaches her daughters to sew,” she had told me, a tinge of bitterness in her words. “That way she can make all the kids’ costumes for the Christmas Pageant each year.”)
There was a small family room and nook area, a living room area in the front of the house, three bedrooms, and an attic space. Every room was sparsely furnished and perfectly dull. It had an old-fashioned, proper, stifling, creativity-sucking style to it, as if Lara had looked at a photograph of the perfect minister’s wife’s living room and copied it. I counted three Bibles and three crosses, two portraits of Jesus, and numerous books about faith.
I remembered how Lara looked with her hair down, how she acted while drunk, the things she’d said. The house did not fit her at all. It was like putting a peacock down in the midst of a desert. In fact, the house gave me the creeps. Everything had a place and everything was in its place. It was as if she was as much of a guest as I was.
“Did everyone do their Bible r
eading this week?” Linda Miller asked the nine of us sitting around Lara’s kitchen table.
Linda had already told me she was a “devout believer…a very Devout Believer,” as soon as I walked in the door. She wore a white sweater and a huge cross. The cross swung between her pendulous breasts. She had such huge boobs it was hard to look at her face. I swear the top half of her was almost all boob, and the rest of her was one gigantic no-nonsense bottom.
I almost felt flat-chested next to her. I could hardly restrain myself from sitting up straight and giving my shoulders a little wiggle.
She glanced over the tops of her wire-framed glasses at all of us. Her look alone made me feel guilty.
Lara had already briefed me on this particular Bible/prayer group. Linda was about fifty and always took over the meeting, paying particular attention to praying for people in town that she knew were going to hell. She also prayed for people in church that had offended her with one thing or another. And she repeated town gossip about people and prayed for them, too.
“She uses God as a weapon,” Lara had told me. “When she says she’s praying for you it’s because she thinks you’ve done something wrong—you are wrong—rather than she wants to share God’s love or to show you she cares. It’s her way of putting God on her side, not on yours. I’m sure she irritates the hell out of God.” Lara had told us she was about ready to strangle the woman and our presence might prevent the aforementioned crime.
“Hmmm?” Linda asked again, picking up a small cross by her Bible and tapping it. “Who has done their Bible reading? A good Christian woman looks to the Bible for answers for her problems, for inspiration. Surely you’re all good Christian women?”
I glanced around the table. Lara looked tense and exhausted and way too skinny, her cheeks hollow.
Two women, twins, about seventy years old, were on either side of Lara. They had been oddly delighted to see me when I walked in the door. It was as if I were a giant popsicle they would be able to lick and enjoy for days to come.
“A new face!” One of them shouted, peering into my eyes.
“A new face!” The other one echoed.
Then they laughed together. I didn’t get the joke, but that was okay.
They had white hair, matching red-rimmed glasses, red dresses, and Lara told me they drove a red sports car. Fast. They were named Jacqueline and Rosita. “Mom was French, Dad was Hispanic. They each got a name,” Lara said.
Three other women sat around the table. They had smiled when Katie and I walked in, seemed friendly. At least they did not say anything immediately rude to me like, “You look like the type of person who needs a lot of prayer, as Linda had.”
Another woman looked as if she’d been struck by an invisible train when she saw Katie and I walk into the house. She was about our age, with short brown hair, a lot of makeup, and an annoying habit of whistling slightly through her teeth when she talked. I named her The Whistler. Not original, but there it is. I learned later that she had had a habit of picking, and marrying, the wrong kind of man, but seemed quite incapable of doing better. Her name was Deidre Marshall, and she actually dropped her punch when we walked in, the glass shattering, just like in the movies, right on the floor. There was a lot of hoopla at that point.
Katie went right over and helped her pick up the glass, laughing, saying she had done this herself so many times, and she was Katie, and this woman was? Katie reached out a hand to shake the woman’s hand. The woman laughed nervously, then shook Katie’s hand.
Katie even got the woman another drink and ended up sitting directly across from Deidre at the table. We all had a glass of punch. There were little breads cut neatly into thin strips on the table. I wondered if Lara had slipped a little something into the punch.
“Well, then, we’ll find out who read the Lord’s Word and who put other priorities above God in a few minutes, but first let’s open with prayer,” Linda said, folding her hands piously over her well-worn Bible and closing her eyes.
I glanced at Lara. Shouldn’t Lara do the prayer as she was the one leading the group? Lara rolled her eyes and folded her hands.
“Dear Lord, my Father, my Savior,” Linda began, “thank you for this opportunity today for us to pray together as women of faith. Please teach us to be more patient and kind and giving and to show Christ’s love in our daily actions.”
Well, the prayer didn’t sound too bad yet. I bowed my head again.
“But, dear Lord, there are some people among us who need your grace more than others. You know who I’m talking about, Lord. So many sinners live in this town. So many people have not accepted you as their Savior, and they are going to go to hell. I’ve tried to help, Lord, I’ve stayed true to you, but the nonbelievers are difficult. So arrogant.”
Lara made a sound in her throat.
“Please, Lord, let Sandra at Michael’s Salon see the error in her ways. The way she cuts teenagers’ hairdos is sinful, and the way she spoke to me when I told her I was praying for her very soul was sinful, so sinful, and please pray for Carl Seaton, who told me to get off his front porch. I had to tell him, Lord, that I had seen him at the tavern and the devil works through liquor. And, Lord, help the women of the sewing circle who don’t seem to appreciate my help or want to hear my suggestions for how to improve their lives. And, also, forgive Daisy Canelly, who never goes to church and told me that she actually believes dinosaurs were here first and that anyone who didn’t believe in science was hiding their heads in the sand. I know you will punish her, but please let her see the error of her ways, let her know that you created Adam and Eve, we did not spring from monkeys—”
“Thank you, Linda,” Lara cut in. “I’ll finish the prayer. Thank you, Lord, for this time we have together, for this day we have. Thank you for the friendships we’ve made in this church and beyond its walls. Thank you for watching over us and teaching us how to walk with you, in your heavenly grace. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”
“Amen,” the rest of us echoed, quite loudly.
“Mrs. Keene,” Linda huffed, picking up her cross and jiggling it at Lara across the table. “I know you are young and have only been in this church for a few years and you have a lot to learn, but one godly thing to remember is not to interrupt another’s prayer.” Linda adjusted her glasses, sitting straight up.
“I appreciate that, Linda. Thank you,” Lara said, her fingers tightly laced. “But we all must pray in the spirit of our Lord.”
“Furthermore, young lady,” Linda said, her face turning a lovely shade of poinsettia red, “You must include people from Golden in your prayers. Then the Lord will know that we’re looking after others in our community and noticing the wrongs they’ve done and are praying for their souls.”
I saw Lara swallow hard, her eyes flashing. “Praying for other people is what we all want to do. But we must pray for those people with love and forgiveness in our hearts, not with accusation and condemnation. Christ loves everyone. We need to attempt to live like Christ, and he did not call out other people’s names for ridicule.”
“No one, Mrs. Keene,” Linda said, quivering again, “is ridiculing anyone. Especially not me. However, I will pray for you today, Mrs. Keene, so that the Lord reaches out and explains to you your purpose in life, as a servant to your husband and to Jesus Christ, our Lord.”
“I understand my purpose in life, Linda, but this is my house, and as I speak with the love of Christ in my heart, I ask that you not use townspeople’s names as you point out the wrongs you feel they’ve committed.” Lara opened her Bible, her mouth tight.
Was this the type of person minister’s wives had to deal with all the time? I wondered. Linda Miller was an overgrown hypocrite. No wonder Lara hated her life.
“Wrong Phrongs Thongs!” one of the twins yelled out, obviously hard of hearing. I think it was Jacqueline. “Let’s get to the Bible readings.”
“Bible readings!” The other twin announced, holding her Bible high in the air with both hands. “I’m s
o old I could die in a minute, and since I’ve had a lot of time to do a lot of sinning, let’s get to the saving-my-ass part!”
“The saving-my-ass fart!” her sister echoed.
I sat up straight and glared at Linda as she opened that big mouth again. I looked at her gooey lips, smothered in bad lipstick.
“Mrs. Keene, we’ll put our differences aside for the moment, I know your husband can enlighten you later in regards to prayer. I’ll have Mr. Miller talk to him. As an elder in the church, I believe he’ll understand this problem. We’ll move on, and I will pray about this later. I don’t think everyone has been introduced to your little friend yet, although I think we all know Katie Margold.”
For a moment, I thought Lara was going to snap. Really snap. As in stand on the table and pour apple juice over Mrs. Linda Miller’s overdone hair. But instead, she looked at her Bible, took a deep breath, then smiled at all of us. “Everyone, this is my friend, Katie Margold, who most of you know, and Julia Bennett. Julia is living with her Aunt Lydia outside of town. And this is Deidre, who just moved here, although she grew up in the area. Linda asked her to come today. They met at the hair salon yesterday.”
All the women smiled at me and I smiled back. I tried to look friendly, like they did.
All except Deidre, who looked like she was about ready to faint, her mouth working spasmodically, and Linda, who looked absolutely askance. I paused for a moment, relaxing just a teeny tiny bit. The other women looked nice. Were they nice? Or would they all, as soon as I left, judge me as a regular heathen? I didn’t know about these church women.
“Lydia Schmydia!” Rosita said, smiling, her brown eyes glowing. “I like that woman. She gave me a special cigarette one day when my hip was acting up and I felt wonderful afterwards. Ate six of her brownies that night. Remember that, Jacqueline?”
Jacqueline nodded. “Yes, I do!” she shouted. “I do! Best damn cigarette I ever smoked.”