Pretty Baby

by Pretty Baby (NCP) (lit)

  “What in hell do you want?” he growled, the voice a faraway echo.

  Shadoe heard himself speak, his voice sounding as if it came from deep within a well. “Garret, I need … I’m taking Julita.”

  The old man laughed insanely, the mad reverberation ringing in his ears. “Are you insane? Get the hell out of my sight!”

  “Garret, listen to me,” Shadoe pressed. “I’ve been having these weird dreams. It’s a woman, see, and she’s dead….”

  “What the hell does that have to do with Julita? Nurse!” he yelled, “Show this bastard the door, he’s bothering me.” And to Shadoe, he rasped, “You keep your hands off Julita. She’s not going anywhere with you.”

  “Please … Garret, the woman … she says Julita’s in danger. I need to take her to this church … see the woman.”

  “Church? What the hell … what are you talking about?”

  “There’s a church … in the woods, there at Scarlet Bay.”

  The old man became angry, pushing himself up as if he were trying to stand. “You’re nuts, you know that? Nurse!”

  Shadoe persisted. “This is something I’ve got to do, Garret. Hell, if I’m right, the woman is her mother!”

  Shadoe moaned at the absurdity of the vision, and closed his eyes for half a second, but that was all it took. In the next minute he saw himself careening down the side of a cliff, and then nothing.

  Later … he didn’t know how much later … he opened his eyes, but everything was moving at such a rapid pace that he became dizzy. He could feel hands on him, strong hands, jostling him. He mumbled, trying to speak, but his mouth was dry, and his lids heavy. His short glimpse revealed people running everywhere through revolving lights that lit up the night. They hurt his eyes, sent a piercing pain into his head. A million hands, it seemed, worked around him. One gave him oxygen while another stabbed his arm with a needle. Suddenly a wicked siren stabbed his ears … just before everything faded.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Julita, wrapped only in a towel, sat on the edge of her bed while she hung on to the post of her bed, crying. Big tears rolled out of her, deep and hot, a flood that wouldn’t stop. Her father had just left, and her room was in shambles. Lamps broken, furniture toppled, and hot, stinging scratches on shoulders where he had tried to grab her. She took her time, slowly making her way toward the bathroom and treated the red, fiery scars.

  She looked at her reflection. Who was the woman staring back at her? She didn’t know who she was anymore. Her thoughts went back to the day Lucretia’s trial was over and the smirk of triumph that etched her father’s face when they carted Lucretia away to the sanitarium. Their life was front-page news. Every secret they’d ever had was a secret no longer. Their dark closets had been swept clean of skeletons … all except one.

  She saw people staring at her. What did they see? A head full of stringy hair, frightened eyes, and a big, shapeless dress. She’d been so ashamed. She hadn’t realized she’d looked so different until the piercing eyes of the public looked at her … watched her, their eyes raking up and down her as if she were an odd piece of debris that had just washed up on the shore.

  Garret’s operation had been scheduled for soon after the trial, and it had been successful. He slowly gained strength with round-the-clock care that did wonders for him. He had regular meals and daily doses of high potency vitamins. He went through physical therapy, gaining strength in his legs, and after months on a walker, he graduated to a cane. The muscles in his legs were firming up and he was beginning to get around almost as well as before.

  And then he moved them to New York and made preparations to send her to an expensive charm school in Paris. She was frightened at first, and it would have been very easy to beg off, but she knew her father had spent a lot of time and money on it, so she strengthened her resolve and forced herself onto the plane bound to a place she’d only dreamed about.

  It was there that she became educated on the ways of the world. It was a strange sort of schooling for her, especially since she had never gone to college, but she knew how to carry herself correctly. Her movements became gracious, and her walk, a seductive sway. She worked on her speech, enunciating clearly. Carrying on conversations with her dialogue coaches taught her how to speak softly and like a lady without having everything come out in a hesitant stutter. This made it necessary for her to be up on current events, learn who was who in the social circles, and know high fashion. She knew what colors looked best on her, how to apply her makeup and how to dress in the most beautiful and expensive clothes available.

  She remembered the first time she put on a dress that actually fit her. She looked wide-eyed at her curving form, her long, lovely legs, and had to gasp. She knew in an instant that all of this was what Lucretia had been trying to hide under those pitiful things she called dresses. The worst part was that Julita had let her. But what choice did she have? She remembered the rebellion she had felt, and a chill crept down her spine when she knew the price she might have had to pay if the events in her life hadn’t taken a sudden turn. Her innocence and total gullibility had put her in a cell without bars. She might have been trapped in a world of pain and torment, but at least it was familiar, and better than going out alone in the big bad world that lay just beyond the front door of the inn.

  After almost a year, she returned to her father, a different person. Her beautiful red-gold hair was cut in the latest fashion. A blunt cut, parted on the side, and falling into deep waves. She detested pins, letting the full side fall down, covering one eye seductively. She remembered the day she walked in the door and saw her father for the first time in almost a year. She opened her arms and they embraced. Then she paraded before him while he looked her over. He seemed speechless, his eyes roaming over her as if he couldn’t believe the change.

  But then that night when she stood before him in a lovely white antique lace negligee she’d bought in Paris, his speech was slurred as he fingered her red-gold hair, caressed her golden skin, and pulled her to him. Thinking he wanted only to kiss her good night, she embraced him, but when it came time to part as father and daughter, he resisted, his hands pawing, and his eyes looking at her in a way she knew was wrong. She tried to back away, but he held her, his hot breath whispering in her ear while scorching her neck with his wet, hungry kisses. She managed to get away, thinking he was drunk. But in the days that followed he got worse.

  And then tonight he came into her room reeking of bourbon. The advances he made were indecent, and the words he said to her were lewd and salacious. She struggled to get away, but he was strong.

  “How the hell do I know you’re my daughter? I lose you when you’re three years old. Then you come back into my life, a beautiful grown woman that I don’t know. You say you’re my daughter, but....”

  “Papa, you know I’m Julita. Don’t try and make excuses for your actions. For years I wondered about you, missed you, wanted to know you, but I thought you were dead. Now, when we can be together, you ruin our relationship with your pawing hands, and your bourbon breath.” Julita’s lovely young face frowned and tears came to her eyes. “You’re not a father,” she whispered, “you’re just a dirty old man who thinks he owns the world.”

  His staggering figure came toward her, his head bobbing with a vulgar leer on his face. “I do own part of it. I own you.” His drunken gaze swept around their sumptuous penthouse. Then he waved his arms toward its rafters. “And I own all this.” He looked back at her. “I did it all for you, Julita. Now you owe me something in return.”

  “I didn’t ask for it, and if I owe you anything, it doesn’t include--” sobs broke out, threatening to strangle her. “--Your hands all over me.” Trying to gain control of herself, she continued. “When I think of the way you’ve tarnished something that could have been beautiful.” The tears in her eyes momentarily blinded her, and she bowed her head, trying to wipe the tears from her eyes.

  At that instant Garret lunged at her, his cane clattering to
the floor. He caught her, a searing pain from his clawing nails scratching her across her shoulder. He grabbed her around the waist with one hand while his other hand moved down, cupping her between the legs, and began squeezing. He moaned, his hips moving against her.

  The familiar position tugged at something within Julita, and she vaguely remembered him behind her as he was now. His hands were holding her tight, and something hard was pressing into her. All at once a long-buried memory burst through, and Julita remembered sitting in her father’s lap, feeling his hands on her beneath her dress. She was only a small thing, but remembered that every time she sat in his lap his hand would instantly reach beneath her dress and rub her between her legs. She could remember feeling a hard ridge beneath his trousers, and him pushing against her, again and again. She was an active child, and her little bottom moved against him until he was moaning with pleasure. Suddenly she would feel hands beneath her arms pulling her away, and harsh, angry words would literally fly between him and Lucretia. She didn’t understand then what was happening, but now it came through with a crystal clarity that was blinding, and unbelievable.

  “My God, you bastard!” she yelled, pulling away from him and whirling on him to slap his face.

  With his cane lying somewhere on the floor, his legs weakened, and she managed to topple him. He looked up at her with a red face. “You dirty little bitch!”

  “Don’t try that with me again, Papa,” she said, her words hissing, and her teeth clenching. “I’m not three years old anymore.”

  * * * *

  Now she looked at her face once more, and the eyes that once were innocent and pure, were now cold. Now she had the look of a woman who had seen too much. She lowered her head and brushed at the fresh tears the memories had brought to her eyes.

  While in Paris, the love capital of the world, she had learned another very important lesson. She learned about love, about men. She listened to her coaches while her mind wandered, looking out the window. She watched Paris bloom around her, Parisians lazily flourishing in love, even walking down the street in an embrace. She heard lovely old romantic songs play freely in the streets. They made her smile, lonely for the closeness that could be shared by two people.

  It made her think of him.

  His long, thick mane, so dark it was as blue as the night. So tall he towered above her. She remembered the first time she’d seen him, and the feelings that came alive inside her. He’d made her realize she wasn’t a little girl anymore, but a woman. And now, after Paris, it all made sense.

  He was a man … and she was a woman.

  When she went to sleep at night, the city of Paris glittering outside her window like a thousand jewels, she relived the night they made love. Seeing his face above her … seeing his glowing green eyes, and the intriguing little stone that twinkled just beneath the corner of his eye. When she hugged her pillow, it wasn’t just a pillow … it was him. She would close her eyes and feel the swirling sensation of something hot melting inside her, settling in the deepest part of her.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden knock.

  She looked up, and her father stood there, leaning on his cane with tears in his eyes. “Julita, I....”

  “Get out of my room!”

  “I got carried away … I didn’t mean....”

  “I said, get out!”

  He backed out and stood silently, feeling as if the bottom had fallen out of his world. Julita wasn’t the only one who had changed. His curly hair was fashionably styled, a sleek mustache adorned his top lip, and he dressed in only the best. He looked around at the lush elegance and riches that he’d surrounded her with. All of it done with her in mind. Shining blond wood, floor-to-ceiling windows that stretched across the walls, bringing the twinkling city of New York into their living room.

  He could look out and see moving marquees all the way down Broadway and the lush vegetation of Central Park dotted with street lamps. He enjoyed seeing the carriages wind around the broad paths, men in tuxedos, women in glittering dresses. He wanted Julita to wear clothes like that. To be among the magnificent, glittering crowd that streamed into clubs and restaurants in a city that never slept. Yes, he wanted to give New York to Julita, and all it had to offer. To have her cling to his arm, and hear her squeal with delight. But he had no intention of stopping there, next would come the world. City by city, continent by continent.

  Now it was gone, and he felt the pain again … pain he couldn’t brush away like so much dirt, or buy off with money. How could he have let it happen? he asked himself, then thought back to the day she’d come back from Paris. She had walked in dressed in the latest Paris fashion. He would never forget it. He’d been looking for her. Anxiously awaiting the big unveiling. And then he saw her, even more beautiful than he ever thought possible. She appeared to him, almost as a dream. He couldn’t help the lustful jolt that turned on a passion he hadn’t felt in years. It wasn’t Julita he saw, but a beautiful woman. He hadn’t had a daughter in fifteen years, and now with her new hairdo, makeup, and clothes, she could have been anyone.

  When he looked at Julita now, he didn’t remember the basement, the mansion and fifteen years of imprisonment, he saw the future, and all that he could give her. The haunting in his soul, the memories, old hurts, bad times, were gone, not just dimmed through drink. She was the blinding light that revealed the future and cloaked his past in shadows.

  That night when she innocently modeled her new negligee for him, everything he had always loved … beauty … youth … resided in Julita now. No wonder he was so anxious to give her the world. He couldn’t help it if his hands tingled for her touch, or if his tongue hungered for a taste of her breasts. The swirl of lust he felt in his loins after the red hot feeling had being dormant for so long made him crazy. The night Julita was born, he never thought he would someday feel this way about her. But here she was, stirring the deepest part of him. His face might have lines, his hair may be sprinkled with gray, but he was strong and healthy and loved everything about her. Her look, her smell. It was like having his life back again.

  And then, with a bottle of bourbon heating up his lust and destroying what morals he had, he’d burst in on Julita.

  Now his daughter … the daughter whom he loved more than life itself … hated him, and his world was coming apart, ravaged as if it had been through a war. How could he live another minute … another day … with this on his conscience?

  He stumbled, and the old music box fell to the floor. The haunting tune of Pretty Baby filled the room. Angered at the reminder, he picked it up and threw it. The small round box shattered the glass that covered a portrait of Greta hanging above the fireplace. His eyes shifted, catching a glimpse of himself in a mirror across the bar, wearing a lush, red smoking jacket, and he hated himself. On the surface he saw lust, greed, and depravity, but when he looked deeper, he saw a corrupted soul.

  His eyes darted back, traveling up to the lines of the broken glass that filled Greta’s beautiful face with wrinkles. As he stood there looking at her, the flesh of her face slowly melted away and turned to one of skeletal proportions. The teeth spread into a bony grin, and the eyes, cold and dark, became hellish whirlpools of death. They looked at him accusingly, as if they were damning him to hell. Guilt washed over him as he hid his face in his hands. In his drunkenness, he stumbled toward the balcony, the tinkling tune still madly playing in the background.

  Pretty Baby, pretty baby....

  While the haunting tune echoed, bouncing off the walls of his soul, Garret stood at the French doors open to the black night, the twinkling city of New York at his feet. He stumbled to the baluster and looked down, his eyes plunging all the way down the thirty-four flights. He swayed, leaning dangerously over, imagining what it would be like to finally end it all.

  No more pain, no more guilt.

  His eyes closed, and in his mind he went over, imagining it would be like flying. The wind in his face, soaring into the darkness, the lights of the city
strung out below him like so many glittering stars. It seemed like heaven, and he wanted to go to heaven.

  His cane clattered as it fell to the cement, and one leg lifted. He wanted to be out there, among the stars, but something was stopping him. It was the baluster. It was too high … hard to lift his leg that high. But he must. A little higher … just a little ....

  Just then the doorbell rang.

  The chime sounded again and again before Julita crept out of her room, keeping an eye out for her father. When she didn’t see him, she went to answer it. She opened the door and looked up into a familiar face that made her gasp. Then they both turned to see the figure hanging along the balcony.

  “Papa!” Julita’s scream shattered Garret’s dream and he opened his eyes. He was almost all the way over, looking down into a tunnel of balconies, one piling on top of the other. The ground rose, then fell, as a whirling dizziness encompassed him. He felt himself falling forward as if he were top heavy, but suddenly heard rushing footsteps behind him and felt two large, strong hands pull him backward. He turned to see who it was that saved him, but before the face appeared he lost consciousness. He only remembered two glowing green eyes … the eyes of a panther.

  It was Shadoe Madison.

  Shadoe carried him to the couch and crouched down beside him while he took his pulse.

  “He’ll be all right,” he said to Julita. “He’s had a shock. What happened here tonight?”

  Julita quickly became defensive, and shrugged. “I don’t know what you mean. He’s been drinking, that’s all.”

  “Did you two have an argument?”