Pernicious

by Henderson, James

  They ended up at her house, and later, after a pint of Jose Cuervo, in her bed.

  Perry discovered that his tongue, though unable to enounce sibilant syllables, was proficient in another area.

  Two weeks later, they got married in the courthouse,

  the aftermath of a night of too much Jose Cuervo, too much cunnilingus, and too little sleep.

  Lester got stuck on “I do,” and had to be plied with more tequila and a Vicks cough drop to loosen his tongue.

  Truth be told, Perry didn’t say I do with villainous thoughts in mind. Lester doted on her, and he obeyed her orders, promptly. Plus, his speech impediment severely limited verbal input, which not only reduced arguments but afforded Perry a receptive and non-critical audience.

  The bliss-breaker occurred when Perry came home one Saturday afternoon and saw her nineteenth-century Thomas Chippendale mirror missing, a blank spot on the wall above the fireplace. The French-designed, antique mirror. The tripartite, giltwood frame mirror adorned with irises and Japanese phoenixes. The priceless mirror she’d gotten from Robert Stubbs.

  The mirror she cherished. Dusted every day without fail.

  Glass shards were found in the garbage can in the backyard.

  Perry picked out a triangular piece and confronted Lester with it, fighting the temptation to stab him.

  Lester looked at it and shrugged. “Wh-wh-what’s that?”

  Perry then realized who he resembled on television.

  Ernest T. Bass.

  The social misfit on The Andy Griffith Show. The lunatic prone to throwing rocks through windows and running off laughing.

  Jealous joker didn’t have shit and didn’t want to see anyone else with shit. She wondered why Andy never tossed his silly ass in jail.

  No rational reason whatsoever why Lester put his hands on her mirror.

  He broke it to spite me! Stuttering bastard!

  The following Monday she took Lester to the Crystal Hill Insurance Agency.

  Two weeks later she told Lester that her wildest fantasy was to make love on a mountain, under a full moon.

  “S-s-so-sounds good to me!” Lester said. “I can do it anywhere.”

  An hour before their departure to the park, the phone rang. Lester picked it up.

  Perry listened in on his end, noting nothing unusual, just Lester’s usual stuttering and stammering.

  Probably some salesperson, she’d thought (a day later she traced the number to her insurance agent). After the call, Lester suddenly became melancholic; he stared at Perry for a long time.

  “What?” she said. He did not answer.

  When she told him it was time to go, just after sunset, he closed his eyes and shook his head.

  No moon appeared that night.

  The thirty-five-mile trip to Morrilton, Arkansas, Lester Perkins said absolutely nothing.

  Perry took his hand and placed it between her legs… Lester jerked away.

  At Petit Jean State Park, closed, Perry said, “You ready, baby?”

  Lester did not answer.

  “What’s the matter?” hoping he wouldn’t respond, fearing that in his state of mind a two-word reply might take an hour. She rubbed his neck. “Come on, baby, let’s go have some fun!”

  Perry got out and ran ahead, peeling off her clothes and throwing them behind her.

  Lester followed, head down, dragging his feet.

  “Over here,” Perry called to him. She’d run to a spot where not one of several halogen lights illuminated.

  Laughing, she climbed the chain-link fence. At the top, she gave the area a good look…only the Mercedes in the parking lot. Pitch dark all around. Crickets chirping, frogs croaking, an owl hooting.

  Lester crossed to the fence and stared at her.

  “Are you coming?” she asked, and jumped to the ground.

  Lester caught hold of the five-foot fence and made a halfhearted effort to climb up.

  “I-I-I can’t do it!”

  “Yes, you can! Look at this.” Perry palmed her pubis. “It’s yours, Lester. Come get it!”

  Lester grabbed the fence and started climbing.

  Perry stepped over the knee-high guardrail and then lay spread-eagle on a rock that jutted out of the mountain like an oblong nose. Though elongated, extending almost six feet, the rock was scarcely wide enough to accommodate two people. Lester cleared the fence and stopped at the guardrail, near the sign that read: NO TRESPASSING BEYOND THIS POINT!

  “Lester, come on!”

  Lester stepped over the guardrail and stopped again, a few feet short where Perry lay.

  “Come on, Lester. Come and get it. Take it like a man!”

  Lester fumbled with his fly, zipped it down…and then zipped it back up.

  “Come closer! I’ll do it for you.”

  Now he had it out; it resembled his expression: flaccid and frightened.

  Perry hadn’t factored this in her plans: Dammit! How can I push him off if he never gets on?

  “Come closer, Lester! There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  Lester scooted toward her, and she grabbed him and applied manual ministration. Producing no results, she took him in her mouth.

  After a few minutes, she stopped and said, “Do you mind helping me here? You’re too damn tense. Loosen up!” She tried again…and again…without results.

  “Fuck this!” Perry said, and rolled backward on her back and kicked him with both feet.

  Though no doubt Lester anticipated a ploy, the maneuver was so sudden it caught him off guard. He stumbled sideways…A moment he balanced on his left leg, knee bent, arms flapping…His ankle twisted and he fell, his chest hitting the rock hard…He slid downward, scratching and clawing his fingers into the rock.

  He was going over. By sheer providence, his fingers caught hold of a small crevice, halting his descent.

  “Perry, help me!” he said, without a stutter. “Help me! Don’t let me die, please!”

  Convinced he couldn’t pull himself up and would soon fall, Perry stepped over the guardrail and started climbing the fence.

  “Come back! Come back! Come back!” Lester cried. Perry had one leg over the top when he changed to: “Help! Help! Somebody help me! She’s trying to kill me!”

  Perry stopped. Damn! If he don’t shut up he’s going to alert somebody. She climbed down.

  “Shut up, will you! I’ll help you, just shut up!” She crossed to him and held out her hand. “Take my hand and I’ll pull you up.” She saw ambivalence in his eyes. “Grab my hand!”

  “Help!” Lester screamed. “Somebody help me!”

  “Shut up, dammit! I said I would help you! Shut up!” She stepped on his fingers with the ball of her foot…Lester held on. “Let go!”

  With both hands she tried to pull his stubby fingers free. No go. She scratched them…pinched them…she bit them…Lester held on, screaming, his fingers oozing blood.

  “Shut up!” Perry shouted and slapped him, the sound echoing.

  Lester gave her the meanest look she’d ever seen, hawked…and spat.

  “Haagghh!” Perry gasped, as though she’d been splashed with cold water.

  She wiped saliva off her face with her wrist. “Okay, asshole, you wanna play nasty, huh? Just when I was fixin’ to help you up. Really. I sure was…then you spit in my damn face! I can’t believe you did that. I cannot fucking believe you did that!”

  She stepped over the guardrail and started searching for something on the ground along the fence.

  Lester, hanging on for dear life, had to have known the end was near when he watched her pick something up and start toward him.

  As Perry came closer, Lester’s eyes widened…In her arms was a large rock, basketball size; she struggled carrying it. She heaved it over the guardrail and stepped over.

  Lester struggled desperately to pull himself up, swinging his legs right and left, scraping his knees bloody against the rock face.

  “Try to help a sorry sumbitch,” Perry said,
picking up the rock, “and he spits in your damn face! Don’t you know that’s nasty? Very nasty! You should know better!”

  Lester’s right sneaker fell off and he gave up the struggle, closed his eyes in prayer.

  Perry stood over him and, straining, lifted the rock overhead.

  “Why you spit in my face? Huh? Why you do that? Huh? Did I ever spit in your face? No, I sure as hell didn’t! You know why? I’ll tell you why! Because I know better to spit in somebody’s face! Didn’t your mammy teach you that?”

  She started down with the rock, and Lester let go, denying her the pleasure.

  Perry stood there, long after she’d heard branches snapping and a loud splat, naked, the rock between her feet, hoping against hope that Lester had somehow survived and somehow work his way up and give her the opportunity to smash his fucking face…

  And just a few minutes ago, Neal, whose large head housed a pea brain, had almost did the same thing.

  The same goddamn thing!

  The doorbell rang.

  “Neal,” she shouted, “get the door!”

  “Which one?” Neal shouted back.

  “Never mind, I’ll get it!” She went downstairs and opened the door. “Yes.”

  “Hello,” Tasha said.

  A second Perry froze. “A restraining order doesn’t apply to you, does it?”

  Tasha covered her mouth. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” She started to leave, stopped. “Derrick wanted to see his father, and I have a doctor’s appointment.”

  “In what wacky way is that my worry?”

  “I’m an emotional wreck. God!” Tasha slapped her forehead. “Derrick really want to see his father. After my appointment I’ll come get him. Two hours at the most.”

  Perry stared at her, head to toe: Tasha’s hair a tangled mess, bags under her eyes, in a sweaty gray sweatshirt. K-Mart loafers.

  Perry shook her head.

  “Is Neal here?” Tasha asked.

  “He’s here,” peering over Tasha’s shoulder. Sure enough, Derrick sat in the car, face pressed against the window. “Wait a minute, I’ll go get him.”

  She found Neal lying on the bedroom floor, staring at the ceiling fan, his eyes bloodshot red.

  “Your ex and your brat are here. She wants to see you.”

  Neal didn’t respond.

  “Mister Pothead!” Perry shouted.

  Neal looked up at her and smiled. “Dinner ready? I’m starving.”

  “Your son is outside waiting for you.”

  “Derrick?” sitting up.

  “Big head? Looks just like you? Yes, Derrick.”

  Neal jumped to his feet. “Derrick, he’s here? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I did. You were in outer space. Planet Electricity, remember?”

  Neal hurried downstairs. Perry followed. He rushed out the front door, and stopped short upon seeing Tasha.

  “Hey, Neal,” Tasha said. “Were you asleep?”

  “No. Where’s Derrick?”

  “Neal, why are your eyes red?” Perry stepped outside. “Derrick’s in the car.”

  Derrick jumped out and ran to Neal. “I miss you, Daddy!” Neal lifted him up, and Derrick said, “I want to stay with you, Daddy.”

  Tasha said, “Neal, Derrick wanted to see you. I’ll come back and get him in an hour or two. After my appointment.”

  “Tasha, I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

  “Neal, I don’t have any other option.”

  “Are you willing to put this in writing?” Perry said. “We’re due in court tomorrow. You’ve violated a restraining order and dropped your son off here.”

  Tasha gave her a measured look. “You know I’m not doing that. I’ll be back to get Derrick as soon as I can.”

  “Neal,” Perry said, “why don’t you take your son inside and show him around.”

  “Come on, Derrick,” Neal said. “Let me show you the Ponderosa.”

  “I need to say good-bye to him,” Tasha said.

  Perry watched as Tasha led Derrick to the rear of the Honda Accord, out of view. She couldn’t hear, but sensed that Tasha was giving the boy instructions.

  I’ll have to keep an eye on him.

  Derrick reappeared carrying a backpack. Tasha, crying now, waved good-bye as Neal led Derrick inside the house. The two women stood there facing each other, Tasha crying, Perry staring down her nose at her.

  Perry said, “I hope you don’t think this sympathy play will change anything when we go to court. Custodial or criminal. Neal and I plan to pursue both vigorously.”

  “That’s not why I’m doing this. Really, it’s not.”

  “Weird-ever.”

  “Guess I should tell you that I won’t be in court tomorrow. My doctor said he would write me a waiver explaining my absence.”

  “Michael tried that and it backfired on him. What makes you so special?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all. I should be going.”

  “One more thing,” Perry said as Tasha was getting into her car. “While you’re seeing your shrink, you oughta ask him if he knows a good dermatologist. Your skin looks terrible, absolutely horrible! Not trying to be funny, it doesn’t make sense you in public looking like a wart hog.”

  Nodding, right eye twitching, Tasha said, “I just might do that. Good-bye.”

  When Tasha’s car disappeared down the street, Perry kicked over a flowerpot. “Damn!”

  * * * * *

  Tasha managed to drive several blocks away before stopping the Honda. Her entire body shook.

  “I’ve got to maintain control,” she told herself. “Got to keep it together!”

  Still, she couldn’t stop shaking. Then the tears came again, a deluge of fear and dread overflowing. I’m losing it, she thought. Really and truly losing it!

  A tap at the window startled her.

  “Lady, are you all right?” asked a redheaded boy. He looked the same age as Derrick; wearing a Chicago Bulls jersey, the number twenty-three, the same one she’d bought Derrick on his birthday last year.

  “I’m fine,” tears flowing freely down her face.

  “There’s a church a couple blocks down the road.” He pointed down the street.

  “Thanks,” Tasha said. “I’m fine.”

  The boy nodded, walked off, occasionally looking back.

  He probably thinks I’m nuts.

  She thought about what he’d said, folded her hands and started praying.

  Chapter 24

  While Tasha prayed in her car, Perry stood on her front porch, considering the change in circumstances. Bumpy Face, she thought, was losing her mind.

  Good, because the bitch deserves everything she has coming to her. Bad, because now I’ll have to wait, or do everything tonight. Who knows what a shrink might suggest she do? Move to Florida? Commit herself to the nuthouse? Then I’ll be stuck with Waterhead forever.

  “Shit!”

  A few more weeks with Neal and I’ll get committed with Bumpy Face. Even Willie, a certified crackhead, would at least do something around the house. This sorry piece of shit don’t do nothing but lay around and get high all day. He thinks he’s going to live free off me the rest of his life.

  “Wrong, buddy! Dead wrong!”

  Who does he think I am? A yippy-dippy fool? A green-eyed slut just into town with egg money? “Uh-uh!” And if his big-headed brat breaks anything--anything!--I’ll beat his ass. Perry then remembered that if her plans went accordingly, she would be solely responsible for Derrick.

  I’ll raise him…beat the wussy outta him. With me he’ll learn how to act like a man.

  She walked into the house and discovered Neal asleep on her black leather couch, dirty boots on, a large bag of Doritos clutched to his chest. This also disturbed her. How many times had she told him that the parlor was for company, not lounging.

  “Where’s the brat?” nudging him.

  “Huh?”

  “The boy, where’s he at?”

  “Derrick?” Neal dropp
ed the Doritos on the floor and looked around the room. “He was here a minute ago. Maybe he went outside.”

  “He didn’t go outside. I was outside, and he didn’t come out.”

  Neal rolled away from her, on his side. “He must be upstairs then.”

  Perry stood over him a long moment, glaring at him.

  I could just smash his fucking head right now. He’ll never know what hit him. Got his damn boots on my furniture while his brat is somewhere tearing up shit.

  Perry tiptoed upstairs. She checked every room upstairs except her bedroom. No sign of Derrick. She started to go downstairs when she saw him closing her bedroom door.

  “What the fuck are you doing in there?”

  Derrick jumped, his eyes two large saucers. “I-I-I was looking for my daddy.”

  Perry seized him by the collar. “Your dad-dee is not in there, and you know it! What were you doing in there?”

  Derrick started crying. “I-I was…looking…f-fo-for…m-m-my…d-d-da-daddeeee!”

  Perry grabbed his wrist and hauled him into the bedroom. The gold bedspread was folded back on top of the bed.

  He’s been rambling!

  Perry lifted him up, slammed his eighty-pound frame against the wall, held him there with one hand and grabbed his crotch with the other.

  Whispering: “Stop crying, you hear! I’ve got one nutless wonder in this house already--I don’t need two.” She tightened her grip. “What the hell were you looking for in my bedroom?”

  Derrick screamed. Perry released his crotch and covered his mouth.

  “Derrick!” Neal called from the foot of the stairs. “Derrick?”

  “He’s up here with me,” Perry said. “We’re playing a game.”

  “Oh,” Neal said.

  Perry waited several beats. “If I find something missing in my bedroom I’ll wait till you go to sleep and I’ll sneak in and chop off your little worm! Do you hear me?”

  Face twisted in pain, Derrick didn’t respond.

  “Dammit, do you hear me?”

  Derrick blinked affirmatively.

  “I’m going to take my hand off your mouth, and if you start hollering again I’ll chop it off now. Now! You’ll bleed like a stuck pig, and ain’t nothing your dad-dee or mam-mee can do to save you.