Dreaming In Color

by Charlotte Vale-Allen

  Dennis laughed. "It's mole-ay," he explained, reaching across the table to pinch Penny's cheek.

  "Well, it says mole," Penny insisted indignantly.

  "I know, hon," Bobby told her. "But it's Spanish and the words are said differently." "I want tacos," Penny declared. "What should I have?" Bobby asked Dennis, for the first time feeling a

  closeness to him. He'd yet to show any sign of a darker side to his nature. And he was so kind and patient with Pen.

  "How about if I order for you?" he suggested.

  "That'll be fine." Bobby opened her bag for a Marlboro and Penny made a face at her, saying, "Smokin's bad." She waved her hand at the smoke. "It's stinky, too." "It's not as if I smoke that much," Bobby defended herself "I only have a few a day."

  "Don't pick on your mom, Pen," Dennis said gently. "That's not nice."

  Penny looked at him, then at her mother, then back at him, trying to decide how to respond. At last, she said, "Okay. But don't blow the smoke at me. It's stinky." "I don't mind it," Dennis said, resting his arm on the back of Bobby's

  chair. "Now cigar's are stinky," he said to Pen. "Ever smell one of those?"

  She shook her head.

  "Believe me, cigars are bad."

  The waitress came, and he ordered their drinks and a platter of nachos, then turned to Bobby to say, "Nachos are my weakness. And hot salsa." Pointing to the two containers on the table, he explained, "This green stuff'll dissolve your tongue, but the red's not too bad. It'll just temporarily paralyze your vocal cords."

  Bobby laughed again. "Really?"

  "No kidding." He put a dab of the green salsa on his spoon and held it out to her, saying, "Taste."

  Fairly staggered by the intimacy of the gesture but determined to behave in front of Pen as if everything were normal, she touched her tongue to the spoon. At once her mouth burned and she quickly drank some water. "You weren't kidding," she said. "That's wicked."

  "I stick with the red," he said, offering Penny a tortilla chip from the basket on the table.

  Penny took one and bit into it, turning in her seat to look around the restaurant. A woman at a table across the way smiled at her and Penny waggled her fingers, then looked again at Dennis and her m other. "How come that lady smiled at me?"

  "Because you're so cute," Dennis said, "and because you look so nice in your new clothes."

  "Oh!" Pleased, Penny took another bite of her tortilla chip. "I like it here."

  "Good, I'm glad," Dennis said. "What about you, Mom?"

  "It's very nice," Bobby said softly, taking another puff of her cigarette, thinking that ordinary families did things like this every day of the world. They took their kids out to restaurants, and talked and laughed together. It felt good. She was conscious of Dennis's arm on the back of her chair but she didn't really mind.

  "I can make chocolate chip cookies," Penny said.

  "You can? Are you going to make me some?" Dennis asked.

  "Uh-hunh. I'll make 'em on Sunday. You gonna come on Sunday?"

  "I don't know. I'll have to ask your mom."

  Bobby said, "I guess that'd be okay. But only for a couple of hours. I have to work, you know," she addressed Penny.

  "Maybe I'll swing by for coffee," he said. "I don't want to wear out my welcome."

  "That'll be okay," Bobby said, able to tell that he wanted to come. She was getting used to him, and he was good for Penny.

  "Tell you what, kiddo. I'll bring over my VCR and we'll watch a movie. You do have a TV, don't you?"

  "Uh-hunh. What movie?"

  "Ever see E.T.?"

  Penny said, "No."

  "All right. We'll watch E.T. You'll like it." To Bobby he said, "I know it's dumb, but I love that movie. Did you see it?" "I haven't been to a movie in a long time." "Okay," he said. "Sunday, two o'clock. Chocolate chip cookies and a

  movie. Great."

  When they arrived back at the house, Penny gave Dennis a big hug, then said, "I gotta go now. Melissa's puttin' me to bed." She ran to the door, calling out to Melissa before she even got it open.

  Dennis laughed. "Looks like she's really taken with Melissa."

  "She sure is," Bobby agreed. "Well," she said, awkward again now that she was alone with him, "thanks for the dinner. It was great." He moved closer, casting his shadow over her. It was like drowning. All at once she couldn't get enough air, and there was nowhere to go.

  "I'm glad you had a good time," he said, and put his hand under her chin, tipping her face up so that she had to look at him. "I like being with the two of you."

  "Penny likes you real well," she said, trapped with him in front of her and the car at her back.

  He dropped his head—she watched it happening as if in slow motion— and he kissed her on the mouth. His lips were very soft and he didn't push himself at her but kissed her lightly, then ran his hand over her hair. She didn't know what to do, and hoped he'd let her go now. She wanted to get away.

  "Do I interest you at all?" he asked, so close she could smell the soap he'd washed with.

  "You're very nice," she said, not knowing what he wanted her to say.

  "Just as a friend?" he asked. "Or maybe as something more?"

  "What does that mean, something more?"

  He smiled. "You know," he said. "Sparks, chemistry. All that good stuff."

  "Sex, you mean?" Her mouth was too dry.

  "Sure. I find you very attractive."

  "I don't like it much," she said, wishing he'd drop this and leave.

  "Maybe you've just had bad experiences. Not that I claim to be all that great or anything." He laughed softly and again ran his hand over her hair. "I got beat up and hurt all the time," she said. "I guess that's a bad experience." "That's terrible," he said, letting his hands fall to his sides and taking a

  step back so that she had more breathing room. "I don't understand guys who get off on that. It's sick."

  "I better go in now."

  "You're seared," he said, "but I'm not someone who'd ever hurt you."

  "No, I know that."

  "You want me to back off?" he asked. "I can do that, although I really do like spending time with you and Pen. It's up to you," he said. "This kind of situation's new to me. I don't want to go scaring anybody."

  He was saying he'd leave her alone, he'd stop taking her and Pen out, and she asked herself if that was what she wanted. It didn't seem to be. It felt as if she'd miss him. "I need to get to know you," she said. "I only ever went with Joe, and that turned out to be really bad. He liked to … to do things, you know? Things that hurt. Knives and guns, treating me like an animal." She saw herself on her hands and knees and felt shame, thick as glue, wash over her. "But I like you," she admitted with a pain in her throat. "It's just hard for me. You know?"

  "I think I understand," he said quietly. "I won't rush you into anything."

  "No," she said. "You can't do that. I do get scared. I've never talked about any of this, not to anybody, not even when I took Pen and went to the shelter. I was too ashamed." She wanted to lower her eyes but forced herself to keep on looking at him. He looked sad and sorry.

  "We'll take it slowly," he said. "Okay? And see how it goes."

  "Okay," she said, shaky with relief. "I really have to go in now."

  "Are we still on for Sunday?"

  "If you want to," she said.

  He smiled and said, "I've never done anything the easy way in my entire life. Let me give you a hug." He waited and when she didn't object, he put his arms around her and, with his mouth close to her ear, said, "I won't hurt you." Then he released her, smiled, and went over to the Beetle.

  She waited at the door until he drove off, then went inside feeling somewhat stunned. His hug had been very comforting, unexpectedly reassuring. It had made her feel protected and cared for—something she hadn't felt since before her grandfather was taken ill. As she hung up her coat, she couldn't help thinking that things were going to turn out better than she'd ever dared hope.


  *

  Unwilling to take any time off from work yet—the last thing he needed was the fucking foreman chewing out his ass—he'd been sitting night after night watching the house, waiting for an opportunity to get inside. He'd already checked around and found a basement window that'd give with one good push. Now he wanted goddamned Helen to go out so he could whip in and find something that'd tell him where Bobby was. He didn't doubt for a moment that there was something. It was just a matter of finding it.

  But the bitch never went anywhere and he was freezing his balls off sitting in the car every night, watching, waiting. The more time he spent on this, the more determined he was to get into the house. And if she didn't go out sometime soon he was going to have to march up to the door and force her to tell him. He'd just ring the bell and when she came to the door he'd show her the gun, put an end to all this bullshit.

  Thanksgiving Day he was supposed to go to his goddamned mother's place. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but the house was so damned depressing these days that he didn't want to sit there all day and eat a lousy frozen pizza for dinner, so when his mother called him at work demanding to know was he coming or not, he told her he'd come eat turkey with her as usual. "You might've taken five minutes to call and let me know," she'd complained, "instead of making me have to call you." The foreman was giving him a look and he'd felt like telling both of them, the foreman and his goddamned mother, to go fuck themselves, but he didn't. And now the old lady was expecting him. Why the hell couldn't he ever say no to her? He always meant to, but as soon as he heard her voice on the telephone asking was he coming or not, or would he put up the storm windows or shovel the stinking snow off her front walk, he said okay, as if this time she might actually thank him or say something halfway pleasant to him. Which made him a total asshole, because no way would she ever have two good words to say. So he was going to have to spend Thanksgiving with her. But first he'd cruise past Helen's house, park for a while to see if she'd maybe finally be going out.

  He got there around eleven in the morning and settled in to wait, cleaning his fingernails with his pocketknife, checking the house every couple of minutes. The street was dead, nothing happening. This thing was driving him nuts. If he did-n't get in there today he'd have to get in after the holiday when the bitch was home. He'd had enough of this, every goddamned night. He was wasting half his life on this shit.

  Just before one o'clock, Helen's Escort backed out of the driveway. This was it! Excited, he slid down low in the seat so she wouldn't see him, and waited till the car had driven off. This was it. No way was she going to the market or anything like that because everything was closed. She had to be going to her boss's place like she did every year, which meant she'd be gone for hours. This was his chance.

  He got out of the Firebird, checked the street, crossed over, ducked along the side of the house, dropped down, gave the basement window one good shove and pushed it in. Open. Another quick look around. Then he crawled inside, landed feet first on the cement floor, took the time to push the window shut. He was so excited he almost laughed out loud This was easy. There was enough light for him to see and he crossed over, climbed the stairs, stood at the top listening, his heart hammering so hard he could hear it in his ears like footsteps. Annoyed with himself what the hell was this nervous-type crap?—he listened for one minute, two. Nothing. Hands sweaty, he turned the knob and stepped into the kitchen. He was in. Again he wanted to laugh out loud.

  He started in her bedroom, checked the drawer of the night table, the top of the dresser. Nothing. He went through each drawer, being careful to leave everything the way he found it, then the closet, looking in pockets, in the purses on the shelf above, all the time those damned footsteps hammering away in his ears. If she suddenly came home for some reason he'd be fucked, because he'd left the gun home. Which was so goddamned dumb he could hardly believe it. The last thing he needed was to have her turn up and catch him there. She'd have him arrested again.

  Moving fast, he looked through the living room, then the kitchen, around the phone, the wall calendar, checked out a bunch of bills, her address book, went through it cover to cover. Nothing under Bobby or Salton. Just the old address and phone number. He opened every drawer in the kitchen, even looked on top of the refrigerator. Not a fucking thing. If she'd written anything down she had to be carrying it around, probably in her purse. He'd gone through all this for zip, wasted hours, days. Jesus! Maybe Bobby had gone off without telling anybody where she was. But he didn't believe that. He knew her. No way she'd go without letting her goddamned aunt know she was okay.

  He let himself out the back door, slipped along the side of the house, made it back to the car, where he pounded his fists on the steering wheel, incensed. He started the engine and sat glaring at the house, tempted to go back in, get a fire going in the cellar and burn the fucking place down. Instead, he forced himself to drive away slowly, so as not to call any attention to himself—the last thing he needed was some nosy fucking neighbor telling the old bitch some guy in a Firebird had come nosing around the house—kept his speed down until he hit the main drag, then let his foot down on the accelerator and headed home. He had to get cleaned up to go eat with his mother. The thought of spending hours in that house with her made his stomach knot. He should've told her to go fuck herself, he wasn't coming—ever again. He didn't owe her jack shit.

  While he was in the shower, he tried to think of what else he could possibly do. Not a goddamned thing. Either he found out from Helen where Bobby was, or he gave up. Brought down by his wasted search of the house, he told himself to give up, forget it. With Bobby gone he had a shitload more money; he didn't have to put up with that pain-in-the-ass kid of hers; he could do whatever he damned well wanted. He sure as shit didn't need her. She couldn't do anything right, wasn't even a decent lay. But it bugged the hell out of him. He just couldn't let it go.

  He got to his old lady's place by four and waited for her to say something, make some crack about how Bobby had taken off on him. But she didn't. She sat in the fusty-smelling living room with the TV going and didn't say squat. He sat there with her, depressed, thinking he was going to have to force Helen to tell him what he wanted to know. And then, when she'd told him, he'd take her out. Otherwise she'd have the cops on his ass, and she'd warn Bobby he was coming for her. No two ways about it, he thought, firing up a smoke to get the crummy smell of the house out of his nose. He was going to have to whack Helen. The more he thought about it, the more logical it seemed. But he'd take his time. He'd plan it down to the last detail. He'd let Bobby think she was getting away with it, then he'd catch her when she least expected it.

  Twenty-Three

  Everyone was taken aback by Penny's reaction to Melissa's departure. The little girl sobbed and clung to Melissa's long skirt, begging her not to go. Melissa knelt down to hold Penny, telling her with a smile, "I'll be back in a few weeks for the Christmas break, sweetie." "I don't want you to go!" Penny wailed, grinding small fists into her eyes, her body rigid. "I've got to," Melissa told her. "But it's not for long. You'll see. I'll be back before you know it." "Come on, Pen," Bobby said. "Melissa's got to leave now. She's got a long drive back to school. Come on, hon."

  With great reluctance, her chest still heaving with sobs, Penny allowed herself to be lifted into her mother's arms, and she laid her head on Bobby's shoulder, refusing now to look at Melissa.

  "I'll see you very soon," Melissa said, offering Bobby an apologetic smile as she patted Penny's back. Penny kept her head down, her face hot on Bobby's shoulder, as Melissa said good-bye to her aunt and her mother.

  Alma, mightily impressed by Penny's misery, looked deep into her great-niece's eyes with increased respect for Melissa's maternal instincts, then kissed her good-bye, saying, "You've made a conquest."

  "I feel awful," Melissa admitted. "Will she be all right?"

  "She'll be fine," Alma assured her, intrigued by Penny's anguish and by Bobby's equanimity. Sh
e displayed no jealousy of Melissa, nor was she upset by her daughter's passion for someone else. Rather, she behaved as if it were Pen's right to form attachments and all she could do as the girl's mother was attempt to console her. It was an intriguing new aspect to Bobby's personality, one of which Alma approved.

  Wondering if perhaps Penny was feeling abandoned, Eva walked out with Melissa to the Toyota and watched her load the last of her bags into the trunk, saying, "Drive carefully, and call to let me know you've arrived safely."

  As if still humoring Penny, Melissa said, "Yes, Mother. I will, Mother. Don't worry, Mother." She smiled at Eva with amusement. Eva hugged her, saying, "What did you do to that child? She's positively bereft." "I don't know," Melissa said somewhat doubtfully. "That was really something, wasn't it?" "I imagine she's seen a lot of unpleasant things in her short life," Eva said. Then, aware of Melissa's confusion, told her, "I'll fill you in when you

  get home again. Penny'll be all right. Don't worry about her. Be careful," Eva said once more.

  "Lighten up, Eva," Melissa teased, climbing behind the wheel and fastening her seat belt. "I'll call you tonight." She started the engine, then said, "Why don't you take Penny with you to the pool this afternoon? I'll bet she'd love that."

  Eva's immediate reaction was annoyance. She had enough to do on these Saturday afternoon outings, what with getting her aunt dressed and undressed, and in and out of the pool, without the additional burden of supervising a six-year-old. But then, considering it, she thought Melissa was probably right. It would take Penny's mind off her upset. Shivering with the cold, she waved until the Toyota was out of sight, then returned inside to see how Bobby would feel about Penny's going with them to the

  Y. At once Penny declared, "I wanna go!" and it seemed her sorrow at