A Little Bit of Déjà Vu

by Laurie Kellogg

  “So, Emma, I hear you’re not the sweet little priss you pretend to be.” The big rooster turned and sneered at Alex. “What’d your dad say about you knocking up your girlfriend?”

  Alex grabbed Phil by his T-shirt and rammed him against the fender. “You’d better shut your filthy trap, Carmichael, or you’re gonna need daddy to give you an adjustment after I get through beating the shit outta you.”

  “Please, Alex, don’t start anything.” Emma tugged on his arm. “The maggot’s not worth it. Let’s just go inside.”

  Apparently, someone had overheard their conversation at the diner earlier. If she had to guess, she’d bet Brandy’s big yap had spread the news.

  Alex shoved Carmichael away and took Emma’s hand, muttering as he led her to the ice cream parlor’s door, “I didn’t start that. But I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let that son of a bitch talk about you that way.”

  Greg Stenchler, Alex’s best friend, chased after them. “Hey, man, I’m sorry to hear about—you know. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Thanks, Stench, we appreciate the offer.” Alex lightly punched his friend’s arm. “It’s not a problem. We’re getting married.” He stared down at her. The pleading look in his eyes mirrored her uncertainty. “Aren’t we, Em?”

  She loved him so much. She couldn’t say no. “Right.” She smiled. “Two weeks from tomorrow. So don’t make any plans.”

  ~~~

  Finally alone for the first time that evening, Margie wept all the way home. By the time she arrived at her condo’s complex, her despair had transformed into anger and resentment. Hadn’t she had enough to deal with in the last fourteen months?

  Margie squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t handle this. At eighteen, she’d run from her mother’s domination straight into the arms of her thirty-three-year-old husband who’d cosseted and sheltered her. Dan’s insecurities had kept Margie isolated as much as her mother ever had. Sure, his absences for work had taught Margie to handle all the day-to-day emergencies. But she’d never been totally on her own before, dealing with tough situations like this.

  “Thirty-seven is too young to be a grandmother,” she mumbled as she let herself into the condo. She flung open all the windows and breathed the scent of freshly cut grass. The unusually warm year had given them practically no spring. It was nice to finally let in some fresh air.

  She picked up the portable phone in the living room and punched out her cousin’s number in San Diego. At the sound of Barbara’s voice, Margie blasted her. “I hope you’re happy!”

  “I guess this means you finally met up with each other, huh?” Barbara laughed.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “Sure, it is. I did it for your own good, Margie. You need to get on with your life.”

  “You never did tell me how you found out where he worked.”

  “I saw his old roommate at a party and found out Jake’s divorced. I told Chris about your situation, and about two weeks later, he e-mailed me the job listing I sent you. We just thought if you had a second chance—”

  “No, the two of you didn’t think. That’s your whole problem. You never have.”

  “If you’re referring to Jake’s party, I’ve apologized a thousand times. It’s not my fault the girl I really hired had car trouble and showed up two hours late. Chris was the one who assumed you were her.”

  “But he didn’t give me a glass of spiked punch and then ditch me to go make out with some jock. I still don’t understand why they asked you to hire a call girl. How’d you even know where to find one?”

  Dead silence filled the line for a moment, and then Barbara sighed. “Believe me, Coz, I’m not proud of it. But you know what a skinflint my father was.”

  Margie’s mouth dropped open. “Ohmygosh. Are you telling me you were a—”

  “Yes,” Barbara murmured, “I worked for an escort service to put myself through college. But I only slept with guys I was attracted to. You may not believe it, but lots of girls have sex for money at some point in their lives. I read somewhere it’s about one out of a hundred.”

  “That’s no excuse.”

  “I know. I’m just trying to explain.” Barbara’s voice cracked into a sob. “I never told anyone before, but....” Several seconds ticked by while she left Margie hanging, wondering what had gotten her cousin so emotional.

  “What?”

  “I’d been spreading my legs for my old man since I was ten, so it didn’t seem so bad to—”

  “Your dad?” Margie squeezed her eyes shut. And she thought she’d had a miserable childhood having no father. “I’m sorry. Why didn’t you ever—”

  “Why does any kid let someone molest her? I was afraid of him. He threatened to hurt my mom if I didn’t let him do whatever he wanted to me.”

  And Margie had actually felt sorry for the monster when he’d died so young.

  “I figured if I could let a pig like him rape me all those years, why not allow guys I actually liked to screw me and make a little cash while I was at it.”

  “You’re not still—”

  “No, of course not. That all changed when I met Ryan.”

  “Does he know what you used to do?”

  “He was the last guy I propositioned. Ryan’s such a white knight, he saw it as his duty to save me. He told me he wouldn’t pay me for sex, but he’d buy me dinner for a kiss goodnight.”

  Margie knew there was a reason she liked her cousin’s husband.

  “Anyway, what’s the big deal about seeing Jake again? I’d think you’d be glad to have a second chance with him.”

  “The big deal is, not only has my daughter ended up dating his son, I found out tonight I’m about to become a grandmother.”

  Barbara gasped. “You’re joking, right?”

  “I wish I was. The kids want to get married two weeks from tomorrow.” Margie quit pacing and flopped into the recliner. “Which means Jake and I will be in-laws and celebrating our holidays together for the rest of our lives.”

  “Oh, Margie, I’m so sorry. I never dreamed anything like this would happen. Did you say the wedding is in two weeks?”

  “Unless we can change their minds.”

  “Damn. Ryan’s parents are visiting then. I have forty people coming for a surprise party for him. I wish I had more notice.”

  She wasn’t the only one.

  “By the way, I saw your mom at the Memorial Day family picnic,” Barbara told her. “She was so thrilled to see the graduation picture you sent me of Emma. I gave it to her. So could you send me another one?”

  Margie dropped her chin to her chest and moaned. “I really wish you hadn’t done that. My mother didn’t want any part of her first grandchild. She doesn’t deserve—”

  “Don’t you think it’s about time you let the past go and stopped punishing her? Hell, Margie, if you could forgive me—”

  “It’s not the same thing. What you did was a genuine mistake. What she did was monstrous. A good mother could never do to her child—”

  “She’s not getting any younger, you know. Pretty soon it may be too late.”

  Margie’s stomach lurched. “She’s not sick, is she?”

  “Do you care?”

  “Of course I care, she’s my mother. What kind of daughter would I be to wish something bad to happen to her?”

  “My point exactly. Angry or not, you love her. Holding a grudge isn’t you. I don’t know anyone more merciful, gracious, and compassionate. But when it comes to your mom and Jake, you won’t bend. Why can’t you just cut them both a break?”

  “I don’t know. I just can’t.” Maybe if she ever managed to forgive herself, she’d be able to let them off the hook, too. A set of headlights flashed outside the windows. “Listen, I think Em’s home. I want to talk to her before she goes to bed.”

  “Okay, give her a kiss for me, and tell her I hope she and Alex are very happy together. I’ll be sending her a card and great big check. And Margie,” Barbara added before she hung
up, “think about giving your mom a call. For your own sake if not hers.”

  When Emma crept in the door a moment later, Margie followed her daughter to her tiny bedroom. “So why’d you need to spring your news on me like that, Em? I didn’t appreciate being put on the spot in front of Alex’s dad. Didn’t you think you could come to me?”

  Emma twisted her mouth. “I guess, after all your lectures about waiting, I thought you might freak.”

  “Have I ever freaked over anything?”

  “No.” She hung her head. “But there’s always a first time. I never did anything like this before.”

  Good point. Emma had always been a model child. Other than typical adolescent surliness that she’d mostly outgrown, she’d never been any trouble. Until now.

  Margie pressed her lips to her daughter’s forehead. “Have you been to a doctor?”

  “Just Planned Parenthood. But I know who I want to see. Mr. Manion had one of his neighbors who’s a gynecologist and obstetrician talk to our class about birth control and sexually transmitted diseases. Dr. Brennan seemed really nice.”

  “Okay. I’m making you an appoin—” Margie snapped her mouth shut, hearing the echo of her mother’s overbearing voice in her head.

  Emma prodded Margie’s shoulder. “What’s the matter, Mom? You have a funny look on your face.”

  “N-nothing. Call tomorrow and make an appointment—and take Alex with you. You need to start taking some prenatal vitamins. You’re not eating right.”

  “I’m already taking them. So? What’d you think of Mr. Manion? Isn’t he the greatest?”

  Greatest what? Margie captured her lip between her teeth. She couldn’t tell her daughter her true opinion of him without explaining why she felt the way she did. “He’s very nice, Em.”

  “Admit it, Mom. You were prejudiced against him ‘cause he used to play football.”

  She didn’t like the direction the conversation was taking. “You’re right. I was.”

  Emma tipped her head. “What do you have against the sport, anyway?”

  Her daughter would never buy it if Margie denied her feelings toward the game. She’d made it fairly obvious over the years that she had no use for it. “I once knew a football player who soured me on it.”

  “I thought it was something like that. Daddy always changed the channel whenever a game came on television.”

  Dan had made sure Margie was never exposed to any news reports or magazines about sports. He’d insisted he wanted to shield her from any further pain—but it had actually been himself he’d been sparing. Not that Jake had been the only source of Dan’s insecurity. Her husband had never stopped worrying he would lose her to a younger man. Especially the last few years as his age began to affect his sexual performance.

  No matter how much she’d reassured Dan, he’d never forgotten he was her second choice.

  ~~~

  For the umpteenth time in months, Margie woke at five minutes after twelve to the odd scraping sound that occurred like clockwork at around midnight and again at five-thirty every morning. As she rolled over to go back to sleep, a deep muted voice drifted into her open window on a gentle breeze.

  Her eyes popped open. Had Jake’s son been coming there every night to sleep with her daughter?

  Margie covered her mouth in horror as the nocturnal noises suddenly made sense. Emma’s soft cries and thrashing apparently had nothing to do with nightmares. And the rhythmic rocking and moans that had occasionally disturbed Margie hadn’t been filtering through the common wall she shared with her swinging single neighbor as she’d assumed. It had been coming from her sweet little girl’s bedroom.

  She flipped back the covers and crept to the window, pressing her ear to the screen to make certain she wasn’t mistaken.

  “Mmmm—Alex,” Emma’s sleepy purr floated into Margie’s window. “I was just dreaming about you.”

  “I didn’t think my dad would ever go to bed tonight,” he murmured.

  The subtle rasp of a zipper and rustle of clothing muffled her daughter’s soft giggle. “Now that they know about the baby, don’t you think they might guess?”

  “I don’t give a damn. I hate sleeping without you, Angel. Umm....” He groaned. “That feels incredible. I love you.”

  “Alex, I need you, right now.”

  “Damn, Em.” He chuckled. “That must’ve been one helluva dream.”

  The closets between her and Emma’s rooms had evidently muffled the sound before this. If she hadn’t left the windows open and wasn’t cognizant of what was going on in the bedroom, she would never attributed Emma’s soft moans to her child having sex.

  Margie’s cheeks flamed as fury mounted in her. How dare that horny little bastard sneak in every night for a booty call. Worse yet, how could her daughter violate the trust she’d always enjoyed?

  Prepared to rip Emma a new one, Margie dashed out of her bedroom and came to a screeching halt outside her daughter’s closed door as a faint thumping began serenading her outrage. Every maternal cell in her ached to burst through the door and yank that six-foot dick off her little girl. Except as angry as Margie was, she would very likely say or do something she’d later regret. Especially if the boy ended up becoming her son-in-law.

  Heck, Alex’s father was the master psychologist. Maybe he could tell her what she should do in this situation besides yanking every hair from her daughter’s head and kicking his son in the family jewels.

  Better yet, Jake could come beat some sense into his kid.

  She tiptoed down the hallway to the kitchen, trying to block out the amorous sounds. Now that she was fully aware, and there wasn’t a closetful of clothing between her and Emma’s room to deaden the barely audible gasps and moans, her senses tuned in to the rhythmic rocking of her daughter’s bed. The increasingly frantic beat became so amplified in her head it sounded like the deafening click-clack of a locomotive chugging faster and faster down a railroad track.

  She searched for her telephone directory for several minutes before she remembered seeing it in the living room. By the time she located Alex’s home number, the cadence coming from the bedroom had turned to a frenzied beat.

  The phone rang several times before Jake finally yawned in her ear and mumbled, “Hullo.”

  “It’s twelve-twenty in the morning,” Margie whispered into the receiver. “Do you know where your son is—and probably has been every night for quite a while now?”

  “Maggie?”

  “Who’d you think this was, the Easter Bunny?”

  “Give me a break.” Jake groaned. “I’m half asleep.”

  “At least someone’s getting some rest. A strange scraping noise has been waking me at midnight and again at five-thirty every morning. Since it’s been so hot, tonight’s the first night I’ve been able to turn off the A/C and leave the windows open.”

  “You mentioned that earlier this evening. So why are you calling in the middle of the night to tell me again?”

  “Because that sound was Emma’s window opening, and at this very moment, your son is having sex with my daughter. The sounds drifting out of her room would make a sex therapist blush. If I knock on her door, I’m liable to kill both of them. You’re the one working on your doctoral dissertation on handling teenagers. What should I do, Dr. Phil?”

  “Ahh—now it makes sense.”

  “What does?” she asked, pacing the kitchen.

  “A few weeks ago, I happened to lean on Alex’s car early one morning. I couldn’t understand why the hood was so warm. This explains it.”

  “I would say so. I feel like an idiot I didn’t catch on before this.”

  “I don’t know why you’re so surprised.” He chuckled. “I told you he was probably getting it on with Emma every chance he got.”

  “Well, I never expected him to do it right under my nose. Or to create the opportunity for himself.”

  “That’s because you were never an eighteen-year-old guy. I guarantee, Sweetheart, if you sent
Emma to the moon, Alex would find a way there if he thought he’d get laid.”

  “Wonderful. My daughter’s having a sex maniac’s baby.”

  “Now you have the picture.” He yawned. “That polite, clean-cut honor student is still two hundred pounds of testosterone. Close your window, and go back to sleep. I’ll handle it.”

  She stepped out in the hall to check if the soft sounds coming from the bedroom had finally ceased. Not only hadn’t the rocking ceased, it had become a rapid-fire knocking, punctuated by Emma’s muffled cries of pleasure.

  A twinge of envy pricked Margie as the kids’ frenzied lovemaking brought to mind her incredible passion-filled night with Jake. It reminded her of what she’d missed by settling for marriage to a man who’d never really excited her.

  “I can’t believe you want me to simply let this go. Aren’t you angry?”

  “I’m pissed as hell. I’m not saying ignore it. Let Emma have it with both barrels—but tomorrow when you’re in control. Making a scene in the heat of the moment won’t change anything. As we said earlier, how much more trouble can they get into? Just go back to sleep.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. Now that I know what’s going on in there, I’m hearing every little squeak of Emma’s bed. I can’t believe they’re still going at it.”

  “Jealous, Maggie?”

  Yes, damn it. “Hardly.”

  “It’s either that, or you have a very poor memory,” he said in a smug tone. “I don’t know how flyboy was in the sack, but the night we had sex, I distinctly remember the mattress springs getting a workout.”

  “Then I guess I need some Ginkgo Biloba, because I don’t recall it being anything special,” she lied.

  “Uh-huh. Believe me, teenage guys have more stamina than you have patience. And considering my son’s a trained athlete, he’ll probably go for an encore. Just close your window and stick some cotton in your ears. But before you do, what’s your condo’s unit number?”

  “What’re you planning to do?”