“Well, open it!” she says.
“I don’t need to open it right now,” I tell her. We’re sitting on the couch and she is perched at my arm.
“Open it!” she urges again, bubble gum breath in my face.
The envelope says “Private for Annette” on the front. I pull out a single page of typing paper and quickly glance at the bottom to see that it’s a note from Danny. It’s written in the same cramped style he used on the napkin that time. When I start to read, my heart stops. He is calling me by my real name.
Dear Venus, I hope you get this letter. I was sad to learn you’d left the Dipper. I’ve had some time to think about things and I decided to fess up. You have a right to be mad at me when I tell you that I always knew who you were. I didn’t want to scare you off, because you clearly wanted to start over as “Annette.” I didn’t want to make you lie about your life at dinner, but I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t interested in you. I worried if I told you that I know who you are, you’d get upset and leave town. I wonder if you dumped me because I’m a cop. Or maybe because of guys in the past. But I want you to know you’re safe with me and beneath my persistence, I’m also the most patient guy in the world. I only want to get to know the real you. We could have fun together. I would try to stop flirting with you, even though you’re so beautiful, brilliant, and funny.
Your smile is like the stars coming at night, Venus.
If you want to leave our friendship in the past, I have no hard feelings. And I promise I won’t ever bother you again. Since I’m a cop, I can’t also be a stalker. Ha Ha.
Your Friend,
Danny
He included his phone number again. I tuck the note back into the envelope, unable to hide my smile. But, at the same time, I’m stunned and angry and confused, too. Danny knew I was Venus Black all along? I need time to think about this.
“This is really nice, Piper,” I tell her. “A letter from Danny—you remember him?”
“Yes! The one you love!”
“I don’t love him, Piper,” I say, half laughing.
“But why does he call you Venus?” asks Piper.
I sigh. More proof that she’s already read the note. I’m hoping most of it went over her head, but of course she’d notice the name. I’m not in the mood to scold her, but I do have to answer her question.
“It’s just his nickname for me, Piper. Because I worked at the Big Dipper and he’s thinking about stars.”
Piper is quiet for a moment, and I can tell she’s not satisfied. “But what about—”
“Piper,” I say, standing up. “I’m done talking to you about Danny. I don’t want to talk about the note anymore. Let’s you and I have a fun weekend in Seattle.”
I can tell my tone hurt her a little, but she recovers quickly. That first night, we go roller-skating. It’s excruciating and hilarious and wonderful because I’m with Piper. On Saturday, we visit Pike Place Market and bring home some fish for Mike to make for dinner.
When Sunday rolls around, both Piper and I have to go. It’s a tearful goodbye, just like I knew it would be. But I had so much fun being Piper’s playmate. It was a great relief from having to process all the heavy stuff around Leo.
While I drive up I-5 toward Everett, the sun comes out and the sky clears, and despite it being cold, I roll down my window and let the air rush over my face and let my hair fly. I don’t know what to feel. What to do with my life. Where I will live or if I will have any money.
For now, all that really matters is Leo. When I arrive back at the house on Rockefeller, there’s a truck parked out front. I figure it must be the one Inez is borrowing from her friend Shirley.
I sit in the car for a moment, contemplating my situation. Finding Leo was as far as I ever got in my thinking—it never occurred to me he wouldn’t want to come home. When I phoned Inez from the Porters’ house, she sounded desperate and worn out. She begged me to come help with Leo.
I get out of the car and I’m walking toward the house when I spot a tipped beetle on the sidewalk. When I was younger, maybe nine or ten, I used to worry so much about these beetles. I’d walk all over the neighborhood looking for the ones in crisis and flip them back over.
When did that stop happening? Did the beetles stop tipping over or did I just stop noticing them?
I pause now and stoop down to stare at this one. She’s shiny, black, and her threadlike legs wildly claw at the air. I wonder how long she’s been like this and if she thinks the sky is blue ground and that she’s actually getting somewhere. When I can’t bear to watch her struggle another second, I gently tip her back onto her belly.
She scurries off, and I wonder if she’s grateful to be saved or if she just assumes this is how life as a bug works. You make one wrong move and your whole world gets turned upside down. And then, right when you think it’s hopeless, a giant black-haired goddess leans down to tip you over.
I go to the front door and knock. Inez doesn’t answer, so I try the door, but it’s locked. I can hear Leo inside, yelling and crying. I’ve heard Leo cry plenty of times in my life, but that was when Leo was little. This is the sound of a heartbroken adolescent boy.
When Inez finally opens the door, she looks angry and exhausted. “So. Did you have a nice weekend with whoever?”
“As a matter of fact, I did,” I say, moving past her into the house.
“He’s not happy,” she announces to my back.
“I’ve got this one,” I say. I follow the sound of Leo’s crying to his room, where I find him curled up on his old purple blanket in his closet. Beyond the word Tessa, I can’t understand what Leo’s saying, but I think I know what he’s feeling.
I sit down near him, just inches away. “Can I pat your back, Leo?” I ask. “Remember, like I used to?”
Since his back is to me, I decide to risk it. I pat in the old way, saying, “One pat, two pats, three pats…” When I get to ten, I feel something shift. I keep going, and gradually he begins to quiet. By fifty, he is calm. I pat his back a little longer, drawing strength from Leo for what I’m about to do.
I tell Leo I’m going to stop patting, and I do. Then I leave his room quickly, afraid if I don’t act now I’ll lose my nerve. I pass the dining area to reach the kitchen and at the end of it, the basement door. It’s unlocked, thank God. I practically charge down the steps, like I’m in a rush. At the bottom, I turn left into my old room and flip on the light. I gaze at the stripped mattress, packed boxes, and cleaning supplies.
A piece of art hangs on one wall, a watercolor of a single sunflower that my friend Jackie painted for me in sixth grade. Of course, I know why it was moved here and what it is hiding. I carefully take down the painting and look at the hole behind it. It’s larger than I expected, the edges charred and broken, thanks to the blast of Raymond’s gun.
* * *
—
THAT DAY, IT was actually Leo who found the hole. He was lying on my bed, naming planets, when he stopped at Saturn. He got up and went over to the wall near my dresser and stood on his tiptoes, reaching for something. The sunlight was slanting through the window just so—and I saw what Leo was after. I put my pinky in the perfectly round hole at the center of a knot in the knotty-pine paneling—and it went all the way through.
Through to what? The more I looked at the hole, the stranger it seemed. I could see nothing through it, but I knew where it led. I told Leo in a stern voice to go upstairs, right then. Fortunately, it didn’t spark a trantrum.
I stuck a pencil into the hole, then went out to the garage, telling myself it was probably just a natural flaw in the knotty pine. The garage was unfinished—Raymond used portable heaters in winter to work on cars. His hot-rod calendar on the far wall was jutting out a little bit. When I lifted the calendar, I saw the pointy end of my pencil.
I froze in shock and disbelief as th
e truth pounded through my brain. Raymond had been spying on me for God knew how long through that hole—watching me dress, watching me walk in naked from the shower, watching my friends undress….
Oh my God. Everything buzzed. My body felt like it burst into flames of shame. It was the worst possible thing I could imagine happening to me.
It was the end of my world.
Panicked and gasping for breath, I shoved the pencil back through the hole and let the hot-rod calendar fall to cover it again. I stumbled to my room and sat on my bed, shaking with rage and terror. I wailed over and over, “Oh my God! Oh my God!”
Raymond was out, helping a friend at his shop. But Inez should get home from work any minute. And when she did, she would see the truth. She would finally throw the bastard out.
The second I heard her walk in upstairs, I ran up and started yelling. “You have to come see this!” While she tried to ask questions, I dragged her down to my room and confronted her with the hole. “He’s been watching me!” I shouted. “For God knows how long!”
To prove it, I had her follow me to the garage and lifted the calendar. Inez looked sick, like she’d been slapped. I expected outrage, but instead she began to explain it away. “Maybe the previous owners…” she said.
“Are you kidding me?” I screeched.
But she continued to defend him. “I know my own husband, Venus. Ray would never…How could you even think such a thing?” Like I was the dirty one.
“You’re my mother!” I gasped. “You have to fix this. You have to get rid of him! You have to do something! You can’t let him back in this house!”
She promised to fix the hole, and then she said she had to make dinner. I sat on my bed, immobilized. I kept thinking back, putting together the pieces. Surely this was why I had been so revolted by Raymond my entire childhood. Without knowing why, I had always known without knowing, which was the most horrifying part of all.
I don’t remember how long I sat there, my rage boiling until it turned into something like a plan. I calmly went upstairs and passed Inez in the kitchen. In their bedroom closet, I stood on tiptoe and caught the edge of a shoe box—the one where Raymond kept his handgun buried under a bunch of Inez’s scarves. The silver weapon looked cold and mean against the silky fabrics. I took it out and put the box away.
That’s when I realized that Leo had followed me into the bedroom and that he saw what I had in my hand. Quickly I tucked the gun under my shirt.
I hid the gun in my room, in the top drawer of my dresser.
When Raymond pulled into the carport, I rushed upstairs to listen at the door. Despite her denials that Raymond would ever do such a thing, I still believed she’d interrogate him. See through his lies. Kick him out. Instead, she greeted him as if nothing were wrong. Asked about his day. Told him dinner would be ready soon. Surely we wouldn’t all sit down at the table like it was a normal night.
Stunned by her words, I went back down the stairs to my room and took the gun out of the drawer and held it. Raymond always taught us never to leave a gun loaded, so I guessed it wasn’t something he would do, either.
I was tempted to check the chamber for bullets—but I stopped myself. Because what if it was loaded? What if it wasn’t?
When Inez called down that it was time for dinner, I almost didn’t go up. I didn’t know if I could see Raymond without trying to claw his eyes out. I didn’t want to give away what I knew, what Inez knew. I don’t remember what Inez served, only that I silently fumed through the meal, careful not to look at Raymond’s face. I saw his arms, though. And the thick blond hair on them gagged me so much I couldn’t eat.
“I’m not hungry,” I finally said, getting up. Surely, now that it was obvious that I was angry and deeply upset about something, Inez would talk to Raymond. After dinner, she would busy Leo with something and then she’d confront Raymond about the hole. Raymond would probably deny it, but she’d be able to tell he was lying and she’d finally stick up for me, demand that he leave.
But that’s not what happened. After dinner, Inez sat at the kitchen table, doing bills, and Raymond watched TV, drinking beer. I hung around, feeling more and more enraged. At one point, I sat at the table and whispered loudly to Inez, “So you’re not going to say anything? Do anything?”
She sighed and put down her pen. She looked at me and said, “Can we just stop with the dramatics, Venus? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous?” I stared at her hard, then got up and went down to my room. No way I was going to live another day with that monster in the house. I took the gun out and debated using it on myself. But I knew I couldn’t do it, and besides, there was Leo. Recently, Raymond had gotten more short-tempered and rough than ever with Leo. I’d been allowing him to hurt my brother, one bruise at a time. And if I were gone, God knows what would happen to Leo.
In that moment, I saw as never before that Raymond was a sick, abusive pervert who would never stop hurting both of us. He had to be stopped, and clearly, Inez wasn’t going to do that.
At around eight-thirty, she was busy putting Leo to bed, when I announced within Raymond’s hearing that I was getting into my pajamas. I went down to my bedroom. Waited. Heard the outside garage door open and shut. A radio came on, and the sequence was suddenly familiar. And with it a parade of mortifying images passed before me. When I learned to masturbate…When I paraded around naked, dancing to the radio…When my friends spent the night and used my shower…Every morning when I came out of the shower…right in sight of the hole.
Burning shame and fresh resolve took over.
Slowly, I took off my blouse and hung it in my closet. But when I started to undo my bra, I couldn’t do it. Not knowing his eye might be there. Instead, I casually approached the dresser, Inez’s words pounding through my brain like a mantra: Don’t be ridiculous. Don’t be ridiculous. Don’t be ridiculous.
Okay, I won’t be ridiculous. I reached into the top drawer for the gun. It should not be loaded. Raymond’s eye shouldn’t be at the hole. Don’t be ridiculous….I held the gun to the hole and pulled the trigger.
The kick was so hard, and the explosion so loud—it was nothing like when Raymond took us out shooting cans in the woods. I heard the heavy sound of him falling, followed by a last gasp of shock or pain—sounds that I would never forget.
I ran past the stairs to the back door of the garage. I got there before Inez. Raymond’s body was sprawled backward over the hood of a car, blood splattered everywhere. Weird little globs that reminded me of pink popcorn slid down the car’s window, and I realized it must be brain matter. I recall thinking: Who knew it would look like that?
I must have been in some dream state of shock, I suppose.
Inez found me there and started screaming, “He’s dead! Oh my God, what have you done! Oh my God!”
“I’ll call an ambulance,” I said calmly. “Good thing Raymond doesn’t peep at me.”
I left the garage and went to the kitchen to call 911. I told the operator matter-of-factly what had happened and where I lived. I could tell it was hard for her to hear me over the loud sound of Leo’s wailing. Leo! I finally registered his presence, along with the fact that I was still holding the gun.
That’s when reality hit, and the strange calm I’d felt collapsed into wild terror and hysterical sobbing.
Somewhere in there, I wet my pants.
* * *
—
NOW I’M STANDING two feet away from that terrible hole, my arms wrapped around my chest, tears streaming unchecked down my cheeks and neck.
And then I realize thirteen-year-old Leo is standing next to me. I’m frantic to protect him, the way I didn’t all those years ago. “Oh, Leo, you shouldn’t be down here,” I plead, trying to be firm, but gentle, too. “Please go back upstairs!”
I move away from the hole and sit on the bare mattress, hiding
my face in my hands, trying to smother my sobs. But instead of leaving, Leo sits down on the mattress near me and puts a hand on my back. To my great surprise, he starts patting, and quietly begins to count, “One pat, two pats, three…”
At ten pats, I cry out, “I’m so sorry, Leo!”
“I forgive you,” he replies, as if he’s been taught to do this. He continues patting and counting while I sob.
I don’t know how long I cry or how high Leo counts. Eventually I hear steps coming down the stairs. “Venus?” calls my mother. “Leo?”
Inez stands in the doorway. “I couldn’t find you,” she says, her voice thin and wavering.
I look up at her then. “Why didn’t you fix it?” I ask, wiping my nose on my arm. My words hang in the air, and we both know my question means more than one thing.
“I should have,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”
“I forgive you,” says Leo.
Inez and I look at each other, and smile despite ourselves. “Something the Herreras must have taught him,” I say, wiping at my tears.
“Well, it’s a good one, isn’t it?” she says.
“If only it were that easy,” I say, looking away. Leo has stopped patting my back.
“What if it could be?” Inez says. “What if it’s not too late, Venus?” Her question is tinged with such raw hope it’s hard for me not to weaken. “What if we fix this hole right now,” she continues. “We can do it together. I even bought some of that sparkle shit you’re supposed to use to cover it with.”
“Spackle shit,” I correct her, and we both crack up. It takes the two of us a while to plug up such a big, ugly hole. After we’re done, we decide to paint the whole room white.
It’s June 1, 1986, almost three months after my twentieth birthday.
The building I’m looking for is in downtown Sacramento. Even with a map, it takes me a while to figure out how to get there. But I don’t mind. I’m in no hurry.
My Name Is Venus Black Page 29