Marianne

by Elizabeth Hammer

  “Your kids don’t need to pick locks, they’ll just burn the door down,” said Marianne. “I have it from reliable sources that Mickey started a clandestine Pyro Club, complete with a hidden arsenal of matches.”

  Danielle snapped her head up to stare at Marianne in terror, looking extremely ridiculous. Danielle Padilla was a very pretty woman when she wasn’t so hyper-panicked—olive skin, square jaw, all that good stuff. “You’re kidding, right?” said Danielle.

  “No, no. It’s real.” Marianne turned around to start the oven and hide her face. “Mickey made all the neighborhood kids join up. Forced them at lighter-point.” Marianne heard Danielle exhale.

  “Nice, Marianne,” said Danielle. “But I almost wish you were serious; then I could report him and get some serious government help. One of those juvie-camps is just what that kid needs.”

  “He’s six.” Marianne hopped up to sit on the speckled granite counter while she waited for the oven to heat. “Maybe you should try Little League first.”

  “Don’t go there. You’re stressing me out.”

  Puh-leeze. Marianne turned and fixed her bangs in the reflection on the microwave. “I’m stressing you out? Who’s the one who locked her kids outside to live on frosting and hose water? I think you were stressed before I got here.”

  “I know, I know,” Danielle whined. “I’m a bad mom. I’m just wigging out because I stupidly begged my little brother to move in here and help us with rent,” she pretended to bang her head against the wall, “and he’s coming today.”

  “Really?” said Marianne. “What’s his name again?”

  “And the house is a mess.”

  “Your house is OCD clean, as usual.”

  “And my demon kids are going to attack him the second he steps out of his truck.” Danielle made her hands into talons and clawed the air, almost dropping her cigarette. “And then he’ll get right back in and drive away, taking his money with him.”

  “What the heck?” said Marianne. “You should have asked me to move in with you.”

  “You’d have to pay, stupid,” said Danielle. Stupid was Danielle’s pet name for everyone she loved best in the world. “That means you’d have to get a job on top of going to cosmetology school. And that means I’d have to feel guilty for asking you to watch my kids all the time.”

  “Mmm. You’re right, it would never work,” said Marianne. “Maybe I’ll see if Nana Deathrage will let me move in with her.” Ah, Nana Deathrage. Nana because she was old, Deathrage because it was her actual last name, or so she claimed. She was the neighborhood’s resident psycho. Just last week, Marianne had had to talk a nearly topless Nana away from her rotary lawnmower and back into the house. Good times. It was fine, though. No doubt, Nana would have starved long ago if not for Danielle and Marianne.

  Danielle walked over and adjusted the oven temp by fifteen degrees. “You don’t need to move out. Your parents are nice.”

  “Sure, but they still bug the crap out of me.” Marianne hopped off the counter and put the processed chicken on a sheet and into the oven.

  “Speaking of people who bug the crap out of you,” said Danielle as she lit another secret cigarette. “Did you stop pity dating that Goth guy yet?”

  “Dumped him last night,” said Marianne. She grabbed the empty chicken bag and headed for the trashcan. “Dark Lord Alvin confessed his passionate, undead desires for my nether regions and forced my hand.”

  “Good,” said Danielle. “Two weeks was long enough, even for me. And I never met the guy.”

  “Picture a cross between Marilyn Manson and Screech from Saved by the Bell.”

  Danielle started laughing and hacking and just about knocked the screen out of the window when she reached for support. “What’s with you, Marianne? You’re an eye-catching gal; you can get someone better than that.” Danielle told the pleasantest lies sometimes. “Wait!” said Danielle. “Did you kiss him?”

  “I’m not that nice. Besides, I’m saving myself for Mickey. I think he’s going to be the man of my dreams,” Marianne hefted herself back up onto the counter. “Too bad I have to wait twelve years, though.”

  “Well, if you marry into my family, you have to promise to sterilize yourself,” said Danielle. “This mutated evolutionary line needs to die out.”

  Someone spoke from the kitchen doorway. “How sweet, Danielle. Are you finding me the perfect wife, already?”

  Marianne tried to turn around and lost her balance on the counter, almost slipping off. She wedged her heel on the cupboard below her and got a better seat. Danielle had quickly dropped her cigarette and stomped on it and was busy waving away smoke. The two of them didn’t exactly exude smoothness. Marianne looked up when she was steady and was accosted by a guy with cigar-colored eyes staring right at her.

  “Don’t hurt yourself there,” he said.

  Marianne had never actually seen a sexy smirk in real life—but there it was. The guy carried a cardboard box across the kitchen and set it down on the counter beside her. He was Superman’s alter alter ego. Six-foot plus, blackish hair, sculpted shoulders, jeans, black t-shirt, and a lot of tattoos. He was out-of-control attractive.

  Marianne looked away, down at her bare feet. She could almost feel the weight of all the unholy grime clinging to them.

  “Hi,” he said.

  Marianne could tell that he was looking at her, but she couldn’t look back. Hell, she could hardly even see anymore. The nerves had made her vision kind of hazy and tilted. She turned her head to look at his box and said, “Hi.”

  “I’m Patrick, Danielle’s brother.”

  Marianne looked at Danielle instead of him. “Good,” she said.

  Good? What the hell was that? It hardly even made sense. Marianne pulled herself together and smiled directly at him. “Nice to meet you, Patrick.” There, that was better.

  Patrick smiled back and waved. He could have been a male model—but not the untouchable, fierce-looking kind. His lovely face was... lovable. The kind of face that suited everyone’s taste. The kind of face you wanted to stare at but were afraid you’d get caught.

  Marianne glanced toward Danielle. She was looking at Marianne with her mouth open, trying not to laugh. “Um...” said Marianne, feeling just a tad humiliated. “I should get out of your hair… go check on the kids.”

  She hopped off the counter and walked quickly toward the door. She banked left to get around Patrick, but he moved at the same moment to let her by his other side, and she ran into him. She didn’t exactly bounce off of him, but she jerked back so quickly that she kind of stumbled. Patrick reached forward to catch her as she turned and ended up grazing her backside with his hand.

  “Whoa,” said Marianne, straightening up.

  Patrick steadied her by the shoulders and then released her. “Sorry.”

  Marianne stepped back and flicked her hair behind her ear. “That’s okay.” She laughed. “It happens all the time.”

  Patrick gave her a half-smile. “You’re kind of clumsy, huh?”

  Marianne blinked. “No.”

  “I just meant...” Patrick pointed vaguely toward the counter. “You almost fell before—I was just kidding.”

  “Oh. Yeah, that...” Marianne shook her head, laughing again. “No. I was talking about when you grabbed my ass. I was kidding, too.” Shoot! Did she actually say that out loud? She hoped that she didn’t embarrass him.

  Patrick stared at her, blank-faced. “What did you say?”

  It dawned on Marianne then that he was unaware of his little trespass. “It… it,” she sputtered. “It was just an accident. You didn’t even know you did it. Obviously.” Marianne swallowed and stepped back again. “And grabbed was the wrong word... I should just go.” Marianne turned and walked out of the house as fast as she could without tripping.

  She would never live this down. She was going to be Danielle’s new recurring joke.

  She descended the porch steps and walked quickly across the driveway toward her
own house. The eleven-month-old baby squealed when he saw Marianne walking toward him. He held up a mixing spoon and smiled, wanting her to come play with him. Marianne was about to heartlessly pass him by, when she remembered that she had supposedly gone outside to check on the kids. Disappearing would be weird. It would look like running away. Everyone would feel bad for her. She couldn’t go back inside, and she couldn’t go home.

  Darn it.

  Marianne sat down by Monkey Baby in the dirt, taking deep breaths, hoping that the blush she could feel on her cheeks would go away quickly. Danielle’s lawn was always green and neatly trimmed, but she kept a plot of dirt unplanted for the kids to play in, something about keeping their immune system up. To distract herself from the lingering temptation to run home, Marianne threw herself into the baby’s game (if repeatedly digging and refilling a hole could be called a game). And anyway, it hadn’t been that bad. She’d only been joking. She’d come off as funny and cute. It wasn’t obvious at all to Patrick that she’d been knocked into idiocy by his gorgeousness.

  Mmm-hm.

  The oldest girl and another toddler soon joined Marianne and Monkey Baby. The girl was called Beth—or Big-Mouthed-Beth, if you were her mother. Everyone had forgotten the toddler’s legal name by now; he just went by Wolverine. The four of them had dug the hole a foot deep within minutes.

  “Marianne,” said Beth as they worked. “Isn’t my uncle so big?” She blew her overgrown bangs out of her eyes and smiled, showing her mismatched mouth full of teeth.

  “Yes.”

  “And doesn’t he have nice hair?”

  “Yes,” said Marianne. Beth needed to shut up.

  “Aren’t you so glad he’s going to live here?” said Beth, with an unbearably cute little clap. Marianne wanted to hose her mouth out.

  Way too soon, Danielle and her superfly brother came outside. Without lifting her head, Marianne watched Patrick walk across the yard to his truck. Maybe she had some sort of freaky pheromone imbalance, because she could feel his exact distance from her, like he was pinging her with a pellet gun every few steps.

  Danielle made a beeline for the hole. “Hey,” she said. “I thought you must have heard your mommy calling you home for dinner.”

  Marianne smiled at her. “Actually, it was the screams coming from all your unattended children.”

  “Don’t worry about it, hon. I covered for you.” Danielle reached out a hand and pulled Marianne to her feet. “I told him you always have stars in your eyes like that. Special contacts.”

  “Was it that obvious?”

  “It looked like an asthma attack.”

  Marianne would have buried her face in her hands, but she didn’t want Patrick to see her freaking out. She picked intently at a loose thread on her pants pocket, instead. “Um,” she said. “How old is your brother?”

  “Twenty-three,” said Danielle. “But seriously, Marianne, that was pretty funky.”

  “I know. I spazzed.” Marianne did cover her face then. “He really did touch my ass, though.”

  “You totally spazzed,” said Danielle. “Patrick said he’s never met someone so awkward.”

  Marianne looked up through her fingers. “He said that?”

  “No.”

  “Because you know this is all your fault,” said Marianne. “You should have warned me about how your brother looked. He’s hotter than the Hoff.”

  “Who’s the Hoff?”

  “Should I go talk to him?” Marianne looked over at Patrick. “David Hasselhoff. It was a joke.”

  “He’s going to live next door to you, so yeah. You should go talk to him.”

  “So, like—tomorrow?”

  Danielle rolled her eyes. “Go now, idiot.”

  Marianne looked toward Patrick’s truck. Danielle was right. She had to go sweet talk her way out of what she’d just done. Shouldn’t be too hard. Just don’t act like a desperate, boy-crazy moron. Easy. Marianne whimpered dramatically, took a deep breath, and walked down the driveway.

  3

  Fattractive Untruths

  Patrick was leaning over the side of his white truck, lifting boxes out of the bed, and stacking them on the sidewalk. He could reach just fine even though it was a full-sized truck. He looked up when he saw Marianne approaching, but didn’t stop working.

  Marianne took another deep breath. If she went back now, the dread of seeing him next would rot out her spleen or something. Okay. She’d play it off light. Joke around a bit, restore her reputation, and walk away. Oh, and she was not going to get all flustered and start crying—that was integral to the plan.

  She walked up to the side of the truck and knocked on the side. “Pardon me, good sir,” she said in a theatrically formal voice. “Sorry for the imposition, but might I have a moment of your time?”

  Cheesy. Bad. Wow.

  Patrick put down the box he was holding and studied her face. She was afraid for a second that she would see the usual you-scare-me look on his face, but he smiled back and bowed slightly. “Certainly, miss. How can I help you?”

  Marianne let out her breath. “Well, sir—I’ve come all this way to assure you, most sincerely, that you did not, in fact, grab my ass.”

  Patrick laughed awkwardly and dropped his faux-formal stance, “Okay, good. You were falling—I don’t know where my hands were—I was really nervous after you said that.”

  Marianne shook her head. “You can relax. I thought you knew what had happened, and I was exaggerating to be funny.”

  “What did happen?”

  “You lightly brushed me—that’s all.”

  “I am so sorry.” He smiled at her and shook his head. “I promise it wasn’t intentional.”

  “Oh, I know—that would be so gross,” laughed Marianne. Wait… that came off kind of rude. Marianne stopped laughing. “I didn’t mean it like that. That sounded mean.”

  Patrick looked down. “It’s okay.”

  “No, seriously...” Marianne took a step forward. “I meant that it would be gross for a stranger to grab my ass. But you, yourself, are fine.”

  Patrick raised his eyebrows at her.

  “No!” shouted Marianne. She stepped back three paces. “I don’t mean that I want you to grab my ass. I just meant that you’re not gross. You know, as a person. Because you’re not. You’re more than not.” Move on, Marianne. She bit her lip and prayed for coherency. “I just don’t want anyone to grab my ass without permission, you know?” She’d just said ass, like, twenty-seven times. My word.

  Patrick looked at her as if she was insane. “So, let me get this straight. The next time I grab your ass, you want me to ask first?”

  “Yes—I mean, no!” Marianne looked up at the clouds in agony. She was such a moron.

  “Hey,” laughed Patrick. “I’m just kidding. I totally understand what you’re failing to say.”

  “Thank you.” Marianne pouted at him and shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

  He smiled at her. “What’s your name?”

  “Marianne York,” she mumbled.

  He leaned forward to hear her better. “Marian?”

  “Mary-Anne.” She stressed the two syllables.

  “I’m Patrick Devlin.” He stepped up to her and extended his hand. His forearms were covered in green and black ink all the way down to the wrists. “It’s nice to meet you, Marianne.”

  She shook his hand. “You don’t have to lie.”

  “Well, then—” He gave her another half-smile. “It was very interesting to meet you, Marianne.”

  That was more like it. Marianne dropped his hand and stepped away. “I should let you get back to work, now.” She didn’t wait for him to respond, but just turned and walked back into the house as quickly as she could. So much for the awesome plan.

  Marianne’s principal goal in life, where gorgeous men were concerned, was to go completely unnoticed. She wanted nothing more than to just crawl into her little crevice in the wall of life and admire quietly. FAIL. She hadn’t only drawn a
ttention to herself—she’d done it with a vengeance. Like an old school circus. She was like the Elephant Man or the Bearded Lady. No, not quite; they got paid. Marianne found Danielle in the living room, changing Monkey Baby’s diaper on the floor.

  “Lemme guess,” said Danielle. “You cried, right?”

  How rude. “I was only out there for a few minutes.”

  “That’s plenty of time for you to get worked up.”

  “Go away and clean something,” snapped Marianne. “I’ll watch the baby.”

  Danielle stood up. “It went that bad, huh?”

  “Stop trying to get it out of me—then I really will cry.” Marianne picked up Monkey and walked away into the kitchen.

  Danielle followed her. “You brought up your ass again, didn’t you?” She poked Marianne in the back. “Didn’t you?”

  “Yesss,” said Marianne through her teeth. She put the baby down on the floor and he waddled away at top speed.

  “You’re a moron.” Danielle tossed the diaper in the trash and crossed her arms. “I hope you at least told him to kiss it next time. That’s what I would have done.”

  “Nope-p,” said Marianne, popping the P sound. She turned toward Danielle and exhaled. “You want the confession? Here you go. First, I told him he was gross. Then I told him that, actually, he wasn’t gross and that he could touch my ass whenever he wanted. Then I took that back and told him he had to ask permission first.” Marianne spread her arms out. “Ta-da!”

  “Did I say that you’re a moron? I should have said, total dumbass.”

  So true. Marianne stuck out her cheek with her tongue and nodded.

  Danielle turned and walked out of the room. “Be right back.”

  Marianne got out some paper plates for the kids’ dinner and carefully laid out her new life plan. Vow of Silence. Time frame: As long as it took to gain back her self-respect. She was absolutely committed to never speaking again, especially to Patrick Devlin.

  Danielle came back into the room as Marianne was pulling the cookie sheet out of the oven. “You’re welcome,” said Danielle.