“Fair play wasn’t taught in gymnast school?”
He inched over the top and sat with his feet dangling over the edge. He could see three men and one woman getting close to the cliff.
“So long hero, you’re too old for me anyway.” She took off in a hard run.
I don’t recall saying I was for you; he thought as he climbed to his feet. He took off the way she had gone. He went through several more obstacles but did not see her again until he got to the water hazard.
“What are you waiting for?”
“Well hero, I can’t swim.”
“What, I thought you were some sort of jock.”
“I spent my time in the gym, not the pool. I wonder if something is living in it.”
“Probably.” She once again looked like a forlorn waif, not the smart-mouthed jock.
He looked around. Two people were almost across, and he saw another in the distance. “Nothing to use to float with, no wood, nothing.”
“Why don’t you just go on hero?”
“I like your smart mouth too much. Take your pants off.”
“What!”
“Do it. I’ll make you a floatie and tow you across.”
She glared.
“Look you said time is money, and this is no place to get romantic I assure you.”
“After almost being eaten alive today, I’m inclined to agree with you.” She quickly slipped the boots off and loosened her belt. “Don’t look. Turn around.”
He did so. She held them out to him. “Here, this better be good.”
“Trust me.” He quickly tied both the legs in knots and used both belts to secure the pants where the legs came together. The other he put over his shoulder.
“Come on.” She followed.
“It’s cold.” He grimaced when the water reached his groin. About the depth where she was beginning to worry, he swung the pants up over his head and filled the legs of the wet pants with air.
“Now come here, and put this under your arms like so. Like that. Now pick up your feet.”
“It works!”
“Of course. Now let’s go.”
He pushed off and rolled onto his side and side-stroked across the lake. Every now and again, he stole a glance at her. “It’s okay if you kick, you know.”
He let his feet down twice before he hit bottom. He pulled her to shallow water. He looked back. Another recruit was just entering the water. She looked over her shoulder.
“Turn around. Let me get behind you.” She quickly had her pants back on. “I hate being wet.”
“Now you don’t look like a lost child anymore.”
“Thanks,” she responded snidely.
“It’s more like a wet kitten.”
“Ooooh! Let’s go and thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
She ran off ahead.
He didn’t see her any more that day. She was fast. He had a steady pace, although slow he kept passing other recruits.
Two days later at evening mess, as he turned away from the serving line to look for a table, he saw her, the girl with the smart mouth. He managed to look away just as she looked up. Oh boy, this is trouble I don’t need, he thought to himself. He quickly found a seat on the other side of the mess hall.
* * * *
Argentina had scored well on the course. She sat alone in the mess hall and thought. They had seen no weapons nor had they started any specific soldier training, and already they were dropping out.
Then she looked up. There was hero. Great, now he’s going to come over here and sit with me for dinner. Maybe even light up some candles, and put on some soft music. He needs to lose some weight and some years. I think he’s turning prematurely gray around the temples.
She just managed to avoid his gaze. When she looked back up, to her surprise he had disappeared into the crowd. I know he saw me, she thought.
Chapter 10: Argentina’s Story
Argentina de la Fuentes was born to wealth. Her father was a high-ranking official in Argentina until the economy collapsed. He saw what was happening and moved his money out of the country. Eventually, the government needed a scapegoat, and he was it.
His wife was expecting, and he had to get her out as well. She hated America, so he sent her to Canada. Eventually, he left the country under cover of darkness. Homesick and heartbroken, they named their daughter after their beloved Argentina.
She was his first born, his precious little girl. While liberal, western Canadian mores suited him, he wanted his wife and daughter to live in the old South American way. He quickly found an Anglo mistress. Senora de la Fuentes dutifully pretended not to notice.
He eventually found work with the international bankers who were systematically looting the wealth of the world. Two brothers followed to complete the de la Fuentes family.
As Argie grew older, she began to feel displaced. At home, she lived as if the family was still in Argentina. Her mother insisted on ladylike behavior, and they spoke excellent Spanish, at home. She attended a good Catholic school where the nuns were exceptionally strict.
It was here she discovered her athletic talents. She suspected they emphasized athletics in order to keep them away from boys. Here she became incensed when she learned how her father made his money. This was the beginning of their problems.
The end came when her mother lay dying in the hospital, and she came home to find her father with the maid. That tore it. She ran away from home and finally learned about poverty first hand, not just out the window of her father’s black Mercedes.
Her sixteenth birthday was to be spent in a homeless shelter. She was sitting at a table alone having breakfast when a boy she did not know walked up to her and said, “So I hear it’s your birthday, Miss.” The smiling young man then sat down across from her.
“Yeah,” she said and looked down at her plate.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Sixteen.”
“Sweet sixteen and never been kissed,” came the stale cliché.
She made no effort to respond.
“Say, I scored pretty good yesterday. Why don’t you let me buy you a nice lunch and maybe we can pick out a birthday present for you.”
Oh boy, another bum. She knew what he wanted, what they all wanted, but she had learned to let them think what they would, take what they offered, and then split before she had to pay up. Not pretty, but so what.
She responded meekly, “Okay.” She tossed her curls and smiled. “You’re an American aren’t you?”
“Yeah, how’d you know?”
“The accent.” Not to mention your unfortunate deportment, she added silently.
“Let’s dump this garbage and go,” he said.
“Sure, what’s your name?”
“Junior.”
Right. “I’m going to the kitchen. Be right back.”
“What for?”
“That’s personal, nosey,” she said with a grin.
“Monica,” she called out as she went back to where a woman was washing dishes.
“Hey, girl, what you been up to?”
“Some guy wants to take me out on account of my birthday. I guess I’ll go.”
“Do you know him?”
“No, but he seems all right.”
Monica slipped her hands out of the oversized rubber gloves and picked up a small kitchen knife. “Here stick this in the back of your jeans.”
“What for?”
“To keep you warm, and to keep me from worrying so much about you.”
Argie stuck the knife into the back of her tight jeans and quickly pecked Monica on the cheek. “See ya’.” With that, she was out the door.
“Where we going?” she inquired.
“We need to stop by a friend’s to pick up the money. You
don’t think I would leave it here do you?”
“No, I guess not.”
“It’s not far, just a few blocks.”
She caught him looking at her rump and felt uncomfortable for the first time. Her top was not too low cut, but she pulled it up anyway.
The house was a bit rundown looking. Maybe belonged to a nice working family, maybe his mom, she thought. She ignored the alarm bells in her head.
He opened the door without a key. She hesitated. “I’ll wait out here.”
“Not sure if that’s a good idea in this neighborhood.” He smiled and turned; she followed.
“My buddy’s room is just up here. I don’t know if he’s home now.” Junior stopped at the top of the stairs and knocked.
“Hey, man, you here?” There was no answer. He opened the door and went in.
“He must be at work. Come on in.”
Argie nervously followed. The room was almost devoid of furniture and messy.
That is until the door closed behind her. She swung around and gasped. They were grinning like feral animals. She looked quickly back at Junior; he mirrored their grinning faces.
“Happy birthday. Argentina here is sixteen today.”
“Argentina, what kind of stupid name is that,” asked the plump one.
“Does it matter?” asked the other.
This is what she had heard the other girls and women talk about in the shelter. It was what she had always feared, being raped, and dead rape victims could not identify anyone.
“Sixteen,” said Junior advancing on her with the others, “and never been kissed.”
“I wonder if she’s a virgin,” added the plump attacker. She could smell him now.
The taller skinny one added,” I’ve got your birthday present right here.” He rubbed his groin and she saw the outline of his erection.
“Look,” Junior said, “we won’t hurt you. Why don’t you just undress and lie down? Just relax and enjoy it.”
“Yeah, and do it slowly,” added the fat one.
Without thinking, she was backing up. She backed into the wall stopping abruptly. As she did so, she felt the knife handle on her back and the cold steel of the blade press against her. Her first thought was to pull it, but that might make them angry. Besides, they could take it away from her. She had brought her own death instrument with her.
For a moment, she thought about just going along with it. Maybe they would not hurt her. Then everything she had gone through with her family and on the road came to her mind, and rage began to build up in her.
Advancing on the skinny one, she kicked him clumsily in the groin.
He caught it. “Now that wasn’t very nice.” He grinned and held her foot. A moment later, she brought out the knife and slashed him across the left side of his neck.
Blood shot out, and he screamed. He let go and jerked away holding his neck. The others stopped.
She quickly jumped at the fat boy who moved back and tripped over Junior. Using this moment of confusion, she ran for the door and bounded down the stairs.
“I’ll get you, you crazy broad,” the skinny boy called, but she was already out the door. They were right behind her, but once free, she outran her attackers. The borrowed kitchen knife had come in handy.
“I know where you live!” She could not tell who was yelling, but it did not matter. Years of athletics were paying off.
* * * *
Monica looked up from where she was wrapping silverware in napkins and knew something had happened. She looked at the knife still in Argie’s hand. “What happened?”
“He led me into a trap. I think they’re still following me.” She let Monica take the knife from her hand.
“Get your things. I’ll punch out early and take you home with me.” Once in the car and away from the shelter, Monica asked again, “What happened?”
Argie related the story and suddenly felt exhausted. She let herself relax and began to drift off to sleep, losing track of where she was and where she was going.
“Hey you wake up,” smiled Monica. “We’re here.”
She shouldered her rucksack and followed Monica into the townhouse. It struck her that it seemed nice for what someone who worked the kitchen at the shelter could afford.
Monica opened the door and called out, “Clar, you home?”
“I’m in the kitchen,” Clara responded. “You’re home early.”
She came out of the kitchen and kissed Monica on the lips, just a peck, nothing romantic. “And who is this?” she asked looking at Argie.
“Clara O’Malley, meet Argentina de la Fuentes. Argie meet Clar.”
Clara was a redhead who wore her hair cropped short, older than Monica, tall and lean. She proffered her hand, which Argie took. Her hands were big and strong almost like a man’s.
“I’ll put on some herb tea,” said Monica, “and we can talk.”
As they sipped the tea, Monica and Argie related the story. Clar looked on and offered sympathetic comments. Neither suggested calling the police.
“So you’ll be with us for a couple of days?” It was a question, not a comment.
“Yeah, I guess so if it’s okay.”
“Sure,” said Clar, fingering Argie’s long brown hair lightly. “Would you like to get some rest before dinner?”
“She probably should; she fell asleep on the way over.”
“Okay, come on; I’ll show you where you can stay.”
Argie followed Clara up the stairs. “Here is the bathroom. I’ll put out some towels so you can shower.”
The second door on the right after the bath was a guest room with a double bed. She showered and soon fell into deep sleep. Hours later, she awoke to giggling coming from down the hall.
She quietly dressed. I wonder what Clara does for a living. This was an awfully nice place. Monica wasn’t making enough to afford it.
About a half hour later, she opened her door and walked toward the stairs. The door to the room down and across the hall was open. It was huge and meticulously decorated.
At the bottom of the stairs, she paused and saw Monica and Clara sitting together on the couch. Monica’s head rested on Clar’s shoulder.
Clara looked up and smiled. “The sleeper awakes. Did you get all rested?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“You hungry?” asked Monica.
For the first time today she was. “Yes, yes I am.”
Monica and Clara got up, and giving each other a peck on the lips, headed off toward the kitchen. “We’ve whipped up some dinner,” said Monica.
“Monica made her world famous Pasta Alfredo. You’ll love it. I’ll open some wine.”
During dinner, the doorbell rang. Clara answered it, and Argie could hear the voice of a young woman but could not make out what was being said. Clara returned, slipped something into a kitchen drawer, and returned to the dinner table.
Argie saw a girl about her age walking away from the house. For a time, they ate in silence. The wine hit Argie hard.
Finally, Clara broke the silence. “Can you call home to your parents?”
“That probably isn’t going to happen,” she responded with a nervous laugh. The others glanced at each other knowingly.
“Well, what do you plan to do for money?”
“I’ve been bumming spare change.”
Clara smiled, “Well, we’ll see what we can do for you.”
“Thanks.”
Monica spoke up. “Dear, do you need to do any laundry?”
“Yes, I probably should if it’s okay.”
After dinner, Monica showed her where the washing machine was and brought her a nightgown. She slipped it on, gathered her things, and headed off to the laundry.
Clara was opening another bottle of wine. After some pleasant conversation a
nd two more glasses of wine, the dryer buzzer went off. “I’ll get it,” offered Monica.
Clara put her arm around Argie, “You poor thing. You’ve been through so much.”
Argie felt safe and relaxed in Clara’s embrace. Clara kissed her on the side of her head. It was warm and comforting. She relaxed. Then Clara gently moved Argie’s chin around and kissed her gently on the lips, a little at first then full on the mouth. Argie rested her head on Clara’s shoulder.
Monica returned. “I folded your things and put them on the bed.” With that, she picked up her glass, sat down on the floor with her back against the sofa, and rested her head on Argie’s legs.
“Your glass is empty,” began Clara.
“I’m not used to drinking wine.”
“It’s okay, have another glass.”
Monica put her arms gently around Argie’s legs, kissed her above the knee, and rested her head in Argie’s lap. Clara returned with the wine. Soon they were laughing and teasing. The evening wore on like this.
The next morning at breakfast, Monica announced, “You can’t go back to the shelter. You’re too young, if the cops find you they’ll send you off to a home.”
Clara gently spoke up. “We can help you, and you will not have to deal with any more such men. You see I know women who will pay for your company.”
“What do I have to do?”
“You just be nice.”
“You can be safe and comfortable with plenty of money, Argie,” added Monica.
“I have someone in mind. I think you’ll like her. I’ll have her over tonight for dinner, and you can meet her,” said Clara.
“We’ll handle the money and arrangements,” continued Monica, “so you won’t have to worry about a thing.”
Argie feigned a smile. “Is it safe?”
“Yes dearie, there’s nothing to worry about,” assured Clar.
Monica spoke up. “I’ve got to get to work. I promised I’d be in early because I left early yesterday.”
“And I have errands to run. Will you be okay here by yourself for a while?” Clar asked.
After they left, she returned to her room. This, the nuns had not mentioned. The day after three pukes tried to rape her, her friends and rescuers were recruiting her as a lesbian prostitute.
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