by Lauren Rowe
The closer I get to the room labeled “Visitor’s Lounge,” the jumpier I get. Lord have mercy, I’m so jumpy, I’d have to thread a sewing machine while it’s running on high. I just keep telling myself to breathe, but I feel dangerously close to passing out and sprawling onto the floor.
It’s been close to seven years since I sat across from Daddy at the little table in our trailer and begged him to take me to Hollywood with him. Seven long years, and so much has happened since then. I’ve crammed a whole lifetime into these past few years, what with Jeb’s cake, and Mr. Clements’ baseball cards, and Wesley, and now my husband the porno-king. I’m a full-grown woman now, and a legendary beauty for the ages at that, just like Daddy always knew I’d be. But right now, despite all that’s happened and who I’ve become, I suddenly feel like I’m twelve years old again, waiting at the mailbox for a second letter from Daddy that’s never gonna come.
The Visitor’s Room is a cement box with barred windows and cafeteria-style tables bolted to the floor. Every cough and footfall and murmur echoes and bounces in this room for days. “Wait here,” a guard barks and I take a seat at one of the tables. When I drum my fingers on the table, I notice my diamond ring and wedding band on my hand. I take them off and quickly stow both rings in my pocketbook. I cross my legs at the ankles and uncross them, shaking like a cat at the dog pound.
A guard on the far side of the room yells, “Door open!”
There’s a loud buzzing noise.
The heavy steel door at the far side of the room clanks open. I rise from my seat anxiously, just as a line of shackled inmates shuffles into the room. The first three men enter the room, and each of them connects with other visitors.
But then the fourth inmate shuffles into the room, and, holy hell, he’s my daddy! Tears spring into my eyes. “Daddy,” I breathe, but my voice catches in my throat.
Daddy surveys the room.
“Daddy,” I shriek, finally gaining control of my voice. I wave my arms above my head, my knees buckling.
Daddy looks over at me. “Buttercup?”
That voice. It’s as if I heard it just yesterday, tucking me into bed for the night. “It’s me, Daddy!” Tears stream down my cheeks.
Daddy shuffles to me as quickly as his shackles will allow. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
I fling my arms around him and lose myself to wailing sobs. I can’t control any part of myself. I can’t control my crying. I can’t control my limbs. Or voice. Lungs. Mind. Everything’s higgledy-piggledy out of control. Every part of me is either racing, flying, choking, wracking, reeling, sobbing, melting, or spinning, or doing all of it at once. “Daddy!”
Daddy pulls away to look at me. “I can’t believe it,” he says. “Just look at you.”
When I’ve imagined this moment a thousand times, I’ve pictured myself twirling around so Daddy could get a good look at how grown-up and beautiful I’ve become. I’ve pictured myself throwing my head back and laughing as he shouts, “Woo-weee, girl, you sure did grow up right!”
But now that I’m here, I can’t control myself enough to twirl and pose. The only thing my body wants to do is hold Daddy tight. I throw my arms around him again and nuzzle my face into his neck. “Oh, Daddy.” A strangled cry escapes my throat.
“Ssssh, honey, now. We don’t have too much time here. Let’s sit right down so you can tell me all about what you’ve been up to. Sshhhh, now, Buttercup, sit down and talk to me, honey.”
I do as I’m told, sniffling and wiping the tears from my face.
“Look at your hair. Wooh!” he exclaims, shaking his head. “Last I saw you, you were no bigger than a popcorn fart, and now look at you. You’re prettier than a picture, Charlene.”
Charlene? Since when does Daddy call me Charlene? I haven’t been called that since the group home. I recoil. Is this really Daddy?
“What’s wrong, Buttercup? What is it?”
“Is it really you, Daddy? You’re Charlie Wilber, right?” Suddenly, my head is spinning and I can’t see straight. Daddy’s so much shorter than I remember him. I thought he was gonna be at least as tall as Kurtis, maybe even taller, but he’s short and his shoulders are narrow. I thought he’d be handsome and dapper like Kurtis, but he looks different than I remembered him. His face is so much harder than I remember it. And so much more wrinkled. He looks so much older than I remember him, too. Where’s that playful twinkle in his eye? I thought he’d look more like Kurtis.
Daddy’s mouth is hanging open.
“Are you my Daddy?” I repeat. “Charlie Wilber?”
“Of course, I am. What’s got into you all of a sudden, honey?”
“I...I just can’t believe I’m finally seeing you after all this time,” I say. I suddenly feel like I’m sitting with a stranger. Why didn’t he write me more than one letter? Why’d he leave me for so long without telling me where to find him? “Why are you here, Daddy?” I ask. “What happened?”
“Well,” Daddy says. He rubs his face with his hand and his shackle clanks against the table. “I’m goddamned unlucky is what happened—I could fall into a barrel full of titties and come out sucking my thumb, that’s what.”
My stomach lurches. Was Daddy always this crass? And his drawl so thick? Every time I’ve thought about Daddy’s voice all this time, I’ve always imagined him sounding like a movie star. “What happened, Daddy?” I whisper, holding back tears.
“Well, shit, that Mr. Moneybags wouldn’t give me the time of day is what happened. I reckon he thought he was too high and mighty to hear me out about my mini-golf course designs. The bastard wouldn’t even see me. I tried the polite way to get Mr. Moneybags’ attention for a couple weeks, but then I decided to take the short way home, and I waited outside his house to talk to him, man to man. And when he came out, he just strutted past me, acting like his shit didn’t stink, so I decided to teach that fucker some manners. A man can’t strut around acting like he’s higher than everybody else, I don’t care if he wipes his ass with hundred-dollar bills, he’s gotta have some manners and hear another man out. So I went over to that fucker’s house and I wound up teaching him some much-needed manners, is what happened.”
My heart sinks. Does this mean Daddy’s gonna be in this Godforsaken place for the rest of his life? I remember what happened to that fuzzy black-and-white kitty when Daddy taught Jessica Santos some manners. “Did you kill him, Daddy?” I whisper.
Daddy laughs. “Naw, I didn’t kill the motherfucker. I just taught him a thing or two. But he was a big fat pussy and screamed like a little girl ’til all his neighbors showed up and held me down and called the cops. And then Mr. Moneybags called his goddamned lawyers and they all said, ‘Yes sir’ and ‘How high?’ when he told them to jump, and just because I might’ve been holding a golf club when I taught him a thing or two, might’ve swung the golf club at his head just a time or two to scare him and maybe knock a few extra manners into him, everybody started saying I gave the man something more than a routine ass-whooping and started calling it ‘aggravated assault’ or some other shit I can’t even remember. Which all just goes to show, Buttercup, if you’re gonna beat the snot out of a sissified rich man, don’t fucking do it where all his neighbors can hear you doing it.”
I smile. I can’t believe I ever doubted this man was my daddy when I first laid eyes on him. His face has wrinkled up some in these past seven years, and there’s the tiniest bit of gray at his temples now, but even in his denim jumpsuit, he’s still as handsome as a movie star. Yes, he’s still my handsome, clever daddy—although, to tell you the truth, I’m awfully surprised to find out he wasn’t clever enough not to get caught for what he did. If it were me teaching some rich guy some manners, I sure as hell wouldn’t get caught like Daddy did, you can bet on that.
“Now, Buttercup, go ahead and tell me everything. I can’t believe how much you’ve grown up. You look like a pin-up girl, for Chrissakes. Woo-wee! I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful in all my life.”
�
�I’m a legendary beauty, aren’t I?”
“You sure are. Now, tell me what you’ve been up to and what I’ve missed.”
I start right from the beginning. I tell Daddy the “official” story of how Mother killed Jeb, since I’ve lately preferred telling myself the Horrible Night of Jeb’s Murder never even happened, and Daddy squints at me like he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying.
“If your momma ever had an idea in her head, it would die of loneliness,” he says, “and you’re telling me she rubbed two ideas together enough to bake a special cake like that?”
I glance over at the guards on the other side of the room.
“Buttercup?” He looks at me sideways. “You’re telling me it was your mother who baked that cake?”
I pause. I don’t like thinking about that night. It’s been a long time since I had a nightmare about the Horrible Night of Jeb’s Murder, and I’d like to keep it that way. But I can’t resist. I lean forward and lower my head. “Well, the man was sleeping in your bed, Daddy,” I whisper.
Daddy’s face bursts into a huge grin. “I knew it.” He nods, encouraging me to tell him more.
Suddenly, it dawns on me that conversations in the Visitor’s Center might be recorded. I keep my voice low and my words vague. “He was talking about sending me to school, Daddy.”
Daddy understands me well enough. He purses his lips. “And what’d you think about that?”
“I thought, ‘Nobody tells Charlie Wilber’s Daughter what she can and can’t do.’” My pulse is pounding in my ears. “Nobody.”
Daddy’s eyes are sparkling like diamonds. “That’s my girl.”
In careful whispers and vague descriptions, I go on to tell Daddy as much as I dare about my performance at the trial and how I had the jury eating out of the palm of my hand. I tell him about how my performance in front of the jury lit a fuse inside me and made me realize my life’s sacred destiny to pick up Lana and Marilyn’s torch and carry it ever-farther into the catacombs of history. And without mentioning Wesley or the baseball cards (because I’m not sure Daddy needs to know about Wesley and, regardless, I don’t want to answer any questions about what happened to all that baseball-card money, anyway), I tell Daddy about the group home and how I waited to age-out before coming to Hollywood.
Without mentioning Kurtis’ nudie club or magazine, I also tell Daddy about how I got discovered by a “rich movie producer named Kurtis” on just my second day in Hollywood and how Kurtis is just about on the verge of making an “epic” movie starring me. “Kurtis calls it a ‘movie-homage’ to Marilyn Monroe,” I explain proudly. “I’m not quite sure yet if ‘homage’ means I’ll be playing Marilyn herself, like it’s a biography kind of movie, or if I’ll be playing someone that makes you think of Marilyn, like an ‘inspired by’ kind of movie.”
Daddy expresses unadulterated excitement.
I’m about to tell Daddy about how Kurtis signed me up for acting lessons, too, just like how Marilyn took them, but I think better of it. I wouldn’t want Daddy thinking Kurtis is sending me to school to get brainwashed into thinking like everybody else.
“Kurtis hasn’t settled on all the details of our movie yet,” I continue, bursting with enthusiasm, “because he’s still getting investors for our movie—because, Daddy, even if you’re richer than Mansa Musa, you’ve still gotta have investors to make a real Hollywood movie; that’s just the way it is in the movie business.”
Daddy’s taking in everything I’m saying with a wide smile and blazing eyes—and when I finish talking, he leans forward in his chair, right up close to me, the shackles around his wrists clanking onto the table between us, and says, “So, just how rich is this producer guy, Buttercup?”
“Oh, heck, he’s got enough money to burn a wet mule.”
Daddy grins from ear to ear. “That’s good, Buttercup. That’s real good.”
Coming here today, I wasn’t sure I was gonna tell Daddy about me being Kurtis’ wife and all, but now, seeing the over-the-moon grin on Daddy’s face, I know he’d be good and proud of me for marrying a man as rich as Kurtis. “And, Daddy, guess what?” I open my pocketbook and pull out my diamond ring and wedding band. “Kurtis is my husband.”
Daddy’s eyes smolder as he eyes the sparkling diamond in my hand.
When it’s clear Daddy’s not going to say anything, I continue. “And the funny thing is, this big fat diamond’s not even why I love him.” My eyes prick with tears. “He treats me good and fine, Daddy. He’s a big movie producer, yes, and he says he’s gonna make me a big star—that’s all true—but the thing is, he’s also sweet as can be and gentle with me.” I feel my cheeks bursting into flames. “He’s just the sweetest husband in the whole, wide world.” I swallow hard. Right up ’til this very minute, hearing myself say these words out loud, I didn’t realize just how much I love Kurtis.
Daddy’s mouth has twisted into a crooked grin.
My heart is beating out of my chest. “Every single day, my husband tells me I’m the most gorgeous girl in the world.” I swallow hard. “Every single day, he tells me he loves me.” I feel a lump in my throat. I think that’s the part that chokes me up the most—finally getting to hear someone tell me they love me every single day.
Daddy manages a big smile. “He treats you like Charlie Wilber’s Daughter deserves to be treated?”
“Oh, yes, sir. He sure does. I didn’t settle for anything but the very best in this life, just like you taught me. I couldn’t have found a better husband for myself if I’d looked the world over.” I pause, considering my words. “Kurtis really loves me, Daddy. He really, really does.” As these last words come out of my mouth, tears glisten in my eyes. It suddenly hits me like a ton of bricks that I’ve managed to make a good marriage for myself, totally by accident. Even if I started out wanting a husband who could make me a movie star, I’ve managed to wrangle a husband who can make me a movie star and love me to bits, too. “He’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”
Daddy shakes his head in amazement. “Buttercup, you’ve made me real proud.”
I’m enjoying the look on Daddy’s face so much, I figure I’ll hit him with the grand finale. “And you know what else, Daddy? Kurtis and I live in a big ol’ mansion. Our house is so big, you need a jetpack to go from one end to the other. Hell, we’ve even got a fountain with naked ladies and cherubs and a little cupid with wings.” I feel like I’m gonna burst with pride.
I’m expecting Daddy to shout with excitement, but, instead, his face goes instantly dark like someone turned out the lights.
I’m not sure what I’ve said wrong. Daddy’s face went straight from glowing to scowling in a heartbeat. “Daddy? What’s wrong?” I gasp. “What’d I say?” My stomach has turned to knots.
Daddy shakes his head.
“Daddy?”
Daddy rubs his chin with his fingers, and the chain on his handcuff swings and clanks against the table. “I wanted to be the one to get you a fountain with naked ladies and cherubs and a little cupid with wings.”
I can’t believe my cotton pickin’ ears. “Oh, Daddy, I don’t care about the mansion. I never cared about the stupid mansion. Don’t you know that?” My tears come fast and furious. “All I ever cared about was being with you.” I’m having a hard time getting my words out. “Why’d you leave me, Daddy?” I choke out. “Why didn’t you take me with you? I waited and waited for you, Daddy, for years and years, and you never came back for me.”
“Oh, honey, I couldn’t take you with me, you know that.”
“I don’t know that! Why’d you write to me only once in all that time? All I’ve done my whole life long is wait and wait for you, and you never came back for me like you promised! And you never even wrote to me, either! You never even called! Not even on a single birthday! Not once! Why?” I don’t mean to do it, but I’m screaming loudly. The sound of my voice echoes in the sterile room. I look around, embarrassed, and notice a guard glaring at us. Daddy and I both smile lamely at him,
trying to assure him we’re doing just fine.
The guard’s eyes linger on us for a long beat, but then he looks away.
“I didn’t want to write to you until I had everything situated,” Daddy whispers urgently, leaning into me. “I wanted to get you everything you deserved, all the best things in life. And then, when I got to this goddamned place, I didn’t want you to see me like this.” He motions vaguely to the surrounding Visitor’s Room and his shackles clank loudly against the table again.
I exhale in extreme exasperation. I want to tell him he’s been a fool, but Daddy’s not the kind of man anyone should ever call a fool. “So are you ever gonna get out of here, then?” I ask quietly. My cheeks are hot.
“You bet I am. In exactly twelve months and twenty-nine days.”
Relief floods my entire body. “Shoot, Daddy, that’s nothing. I thought you were gonna be in here forever. You can bide your time anywhere for a year and change as easy as falling off a greasy log.” I take a deep breath, relief softening every muscle in my body. “And when your time’s up, you’ll come live with me in my fancy mansion.” Oh boy. The minute that last part about Daddy coming to live with me escapes my mouth, I instantly wonder how the hell I’m gonna deliver on that invitation, seeing as how Kurtis thinks my daddy the preacher man met his maker in an unfortunate encounter with a hippopotamus.
Daddy’s face lights up. “Why, thank you, honey. I’ll most certainly do that, Buttercup.” He smiles broadly. “That sounds like a real good plan.”
Chapter 27
19 Years 5 Days Old
375 Days Before Killing Kurtis
“Kurtis?” I holler as I waltz through our front door. I don’t know why his car is in the driveway so early today. Kurtis is usually home much later than this. He knew I was going to acting class this afternoon and to get my hair done after that—and I didn’t mention my hairdresser cancelled on me at the last minute. So how’d he know to come home early? Well, well, well, I reckon my horny husband’s gonna get an unexpected treat from his sweet wife.