Incense and Peppermints

by Constantine, Cathrina

  I switched on the television for mindless entertainment. While sprawling on the recliner, the news came on, and the commentators were discussing the upcoming peace demonstration in Washington D.C.

  “Americans across the United States have taken part in a peace initiative protesting the continued war in Vietnam,” the newscaster said. “Millions are expected in Washington on October 15th to march in a Moratorium to end the war.”

  Then they broadcasted previous demonstrations from peaceful sit-ins to violent protests with police administering tear gas—as well as reel upon reel of police dragging heckling teenagers off to jail.

  CHAPTER 16

  The majority of Lancaster High was at Homecoming, and I mutated into a self-pitying slug. Lucy had been a snap to babysit, and once she was tucked in her crib, I rooted myself on the couch. Moving only once to get a snack from the freezer. I pampered my wallowing with a quart of chocolate swirl ice cream.

  What was driving me psycho and deeper into depression were musings and images of Michael and Dee, doing whatever they were doing. My contemplation turned disgustingly maudlin, and not only in regards to them doing it. I racked my brain to make sense of Michael’s kiss.

  Why? Why did he kiss me?

  When Candy telephoned, we gabbed for an hour, which alleviated some of my pent-up nutsiness. She didn’t blame me for my dickhead brother, and I thought it wise not to reveal Michael’s kiss. We somehow solaced each other.

  Much later, my parents came home and banged the kettle on the stove to boil water for instant coffee. I prayed they’d go to bed and pass-out. Seldom were my prayers answered.

  A fracas ensued over money and Stevie’s decision to go gallivanting with the girls. I heard a chair overturn, and the crisp sound of a slap. Mom cried, and Dad’s swearing echoed through the house.

  Lucy woke, jolting erect. Her eyes widened in fright. Their ruthless bickering elicited an explosion of tears, and I cradled her in my arms. Holding her tiny head to my chest, I covered her ear so she couldn’t hear them and rocked her back to sleep.

  Oblivious of Lucy’s outburst, my parents’ squabbling segued into fiery whispers. Dense footfalls advanced along the hallway, followed by the thump of their bedroom door, leaving me sick to my stomach.

  I fell into a restless slumber until the ringing phone startled me. Wicked thoughts of Stevie being arrested, or worse, an accident had my heart racing as I hurried to get it.

  “Hullo.”

  “Hey, punk.” Stevie’s voice came through the receiver. “Are Mom and Dad sleeping?”

  “Yes,” I whispered and cupped my hand around the mouthpiece. In fact, Dad’s sonic snoring could wake the dead.

  “Get dressed and meet me at the end of the driveway.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “Sneak out. I need a designated driver, and you’re it. C’mon.”

  “No, Stevie. Just get in the house.”

  I heard a trace of Phoenix’s voice in the background before he spoke again.

  “Michael’s with us. And he wants you to come.”

  He’d punched the right button.

  When I climbed into the van, Michael wasn’t present, and Stevie hadn’t asked me to sneak out of the house to be his DD. I fell for my brother’s hook, similar to a fish for a worm. I’d been conned and hated myself for it.

  While driving in the love mobile, we crossed the border into Canada. Five minutes later, I noted the dilapidated buildings and roads littered with garbage. We were headed into a seedy area.

  “Don’t be mad at your brother,” Phoenix pleaded while kneading my shoulder and arm.

  She’d make a decent masseuse.

  “You need to be here tonight because I had a vision. Mikey promised to meet us at the club so it won’t be all bad.”

  A what? “I have to be home in a few hours or I’m dead,” I said, more to Stevie than to Phoenix.

  Stevie’s mouth and nose scrunched as he cast Phoenix a withering smirk. He made it plain for all to see, he wasn’t ecstatic that I was with them.

  “Steve, she needs to be here.” Phoenix cajoled and traced her finger along his neckline, generating a stiff smile to my brother’s lips. “Trust me.”

  “Here.” Monty struck out his arm, gesturing. “Park behind that warehouse. This is it.”

  Raven steered the van into a deserted industrial site minus streetlights. The van trundled over rubble and what sounded like broken glass into an alley between two ramshackle buildings. Then we came to an open glade where rows of cars were parked.

  Alighting from the van and through its oily fumes, we hiked through tall weedy grass. I pocketed my cold hands as an eddying draft swirled garbage and dead leaves around us. Autumn had siphoned the life from the vegetation, it splintered and cracked underfoot, and towering structures threatened us on four sides—eclipsing the area in murkiness.

  As I followed the crew, my skin crawled, and a knot twisted beneath my ribcage like a detrimental warning, scaring the hell out of me.

  When we came out of the glade, our footsteps echoed eerily on the sidewalk that bordered the building. We stopped at a large maintenance access where Tom banged on the door with both hands. A two-by-four, square piece of metal grinded open, and two eyes stared out.

  “Ahhh… I know the password.” Monty’s head slumped backward, squeezing his eyelids in thought. “Ahhh… I know it. Give me a sec. Ahh… Night of the Living Dead.” Prideful, he glanced at Raven. “It’s usually a movie.”

  The peek hole grated shut. There was abrading of bolts and locks, and then the green metallic door grazed open. A beefy man in a sullied white T-shirt and navy sweats slammed the metal door behind us and re-bolted the locks. We coursed through a long narrow hallway conducted by diffused light from intermittent dangling bulbs.

  Outcries and jeers increased in decibel as we walked.

  “It sounds like we’re missing a good match,” Monty said, and walked faster.

  After heading down a flight of concrete stairs, we arrived on a balcony and a spacious area, which was more than likely a storage facility. Superior lighting bathed the improvised arena in a glorified ambiance. A number of people leaned on metal railings, ranting and yelling. I bellied up to the rail and noticed four platinum poles that were moored to the cement floor. Bands of velvet cording was stretched and linked to the poles. From my vantage point on the balcony, I detected splotches of crimson fluid on the cement.

  Blood?

  Tiered wooden benches surrounded the fighting arena, but most of the people swarmed the velvet cords, shouting.

  “Hey, there’s Michael and Tom. They beat us here,” said Stevie while shoving off the rail. “C’mon, let’s go down.”

  We jockeyed through the choking horde, and I kept my eyes fixed on Michael’s brilliant head of jet-black hair.

  “You guys made it,” Monty said, trying to be heard above the uproar. “This one’s got to be over soon. My man Geno’s got him beat.”

  Evidently, Monty patronized the fight club and seemed to know the lowdown. The boys pumped hands and arms, and the girl’s gave Michael a bear hug. I was hidden behind two rotund men, and after squirming between them, I managed to join my friends. The place was oppressive, and I was quick to unfasten the buttons on my coat. Looking up, I met a pair of blazing eyes beneath a stringent brow.

  “What. The. Fuck,” he said.

  Indeed, I was amazed he could see at all.

  Stoned or extremely tired, he wiped his hand over his mouth. “Mary shouldn’t be here.”

  “Mikey. Mikey.” Phoenix placated and employed her massaging techniques on his abs.

  I wondered how it’d feel to touch him.

  “Mary didn’t know what she was in for. I’m sorry. I tricked her.” She plumped her lips into a pout. “Don’t be mad. It’s not her fault.”

  Even wit
h Phoenix dispensing her pacifying massage, he didn’t take his eyes off me, and his callous expression softened with a tweak to his lips.

  “Hey, Mary.”

  They must’ve come straight from the dance because he had on a white button-down shirt flared open at the neckline where a tie might have been and black trousers. Not the type of finery for a fight club.

  As if my appearance needed clarification, I said, “Phoenix insisted I needed to be here. Something about a vision.”

  I shrugged, and he gave me an embellished nod. I didn’t know if that meant he understood or not.

  “We need whiskey,” Tom said, shooing us to an oversized bar.

  Rows of shelving were attached to the wall above a makeshift bar, publicizing an array of hard liquor for people who wanted to get drunk fast. Stevie indicated to a honey-tinted bottle. He paid the bartender who then swatted down paper cups and the whiskey.

  I begged off when Tom tried handing me a cup, and Michael waved him off too. As if I had my own personal bodyguard, he hovered over me. Still having no idea why I had to sneak out of the house in the middle of the night, I wanted to speak to the hippie who’d scammed me. “Where’d Phoenix go?” I asked when I didn’t see her.

  “In the restroom,” Raven said while gazing around. “She’s doesn’t cope well with this, but we have to cough up money to fix the van.”

  The pieces to the puzzle seemed to be falling into place—excluding my presence.

  We walked, or more like flowed, with the crowd to where the odds and favorites were posted on tall chalkboards for the fights of the evening. I was given a brief lesson on the semantics of the club. The procedure was similar to the horse track, which I loved attending with Dad. Instead of betting on horseflesh, people placed bets on man-flesh.

  Generously sloshing each cup with liquor, Steve handed them off. “Down the hatch.” He guzzled the fluid in one slug.

  “Will you talk to Phoenix?” Raven asked as she snuggled up to Michael. “She’s really freaked.”

  “How much money do you need?” he inquired, staring into her face.

  “I dunno,” she said hollowly. “Phoenix said the guy at the garage was a swindler. Thinks she’s stupid and asked for two-hundred dollars upfront.”

  “Where’s the restroom?”

  Raven stayed behind to place her bet, but Michael grabbed my hand and wasn’t letting go. I had to admit, I liked his fingers clinging to mine—almost as if we were a couple. That fantasy was trounced when I thought about the Homecoming dance and his date. I asked, “By the way, where’s Dee and Gwen?”

  “Home. Where you should be. This place is full of degenerates.”

  “Is that why you’re here?”

  “Phoenix begged me to come,” he said. “And it’s not a joint for girls your age.”

  Sounding smug, I said, “It’s very intriguing, except for the smell. And, believe it or not, I can take care of myself.”

  His eyes iced over. “Fine.” He let go of my fingers as if I had leprosy and brushed his hand on his shirt as if to purge any communicable bacteria. “You’ve used that line before.”

  Michael straight-armed the door to the women’s restroom and breezed in as if it was perfectly acceptable for a boy to be in there. Two huddling young ladies were bending over a hand mirror, inhaling a white powdery substance with what looked like rolled dollar bills. When they saw him, instead of showing annoyance or surprise, they struck into glamorous poses.

  “Hey now,” purred the platinum-haired lady in leopard leggings.

  Her scooped neckline bared more cleavage than I cared to see.

  “What have we got here? Hey, cutie, wanna join us?” In a wink of an eye, the ladies saddled up to Michael as if he was the second coming.

  “I hate to disappoint you,” he said gifting them a killer half-smile, “but I’m taken for the night.”

  “Baby, we’re proposing a night of ménage à trois.” Her tongue seductively licked her lips as she stroked his chest with her red-enameled fingernails.

  A stall door slamming against the wall drew our attention. “Hey, broads, hands-off.” Phoenix gripped Michael’s wrists, drawing him away.

  “Sorry, girls.” A roguish Michael shrugged. “My next clients.” He wrapped his possessive arms over Phoenix and me

  Blowing a winded breath, the woman in leopard leggings said, “What a pity.”

  The ladies and their clacking of six-inch heels departed through the door.

  “Mikey, I knew you’d come.” Phoenix teetered on her tiptoes and kissed him.

  What drew my ire, he had reciprocated. I folded my arms and stared at my feet.

  “Sorry, Mary.” Phoenix wiped her fingers over Michael’s mouth, ridding it of her wetness. “It was a friendly kiss nothing more.”

  It didn’t bother me. I’m lying. It did.

  “So, what gives?” Michael inquired.

  “I don’t like depending on people,” she whimpered, wringing her hands. “This was my chance to fly, to be free from my parents. Constriction, constriction, constriction.” Phoenix melodramatically wrapped her arms over the top her head and tottered from side to side. “Now, I’ll have to call my folks and beg for money to fix the van. They’ll want me to come home.”

  “I thought you were going to Rochester in the morning?”

  “Just to pick up provisions like clean clothes, and to borrow food from Mother Hubbard’s cupboard. And to show them I’m still alive. Then off to the peace rally.”

  She whacked her arms to her sides in frustration. “My parents will lend me the money and then make me feel guilty as hell for leaving. I’ll get the redundant litany speech.” She upped her voice to sound maternal. “Isn’t it time you grew-up and become responsible? Get a job, settle down, and raise a house full of rug rats. That speech.”

  “You’ll make a great mother someday.”

  “I’m only twenty-one. There’s plenty of time to make babies.” She peeked at him from under her brow, lips rumpling.

  “Will the van make it back to my house?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Let me take a look. Maybe I can fix it.”

  “The mechanic said it’d cost big bucks. Either way, you’ll have to buy parts, and that costs money.”

  “Let’s get the van to my house first, and then we’ll take it from there.”

  I’d remained mute and had even washed my hands while I was there.

  “Are you coming out,” asked Michael, “or are you going to stay in here all night?”

  “It’s so barbaric. But if Mary can handle it, then I can too.”

  Her hands skimmed my cheeks, and she actually kissed me on the lips. Her mouth-to-mouth kiss was bizarre, yet coming from her, I didn’t mind.

  We left the restroom just as women were entering, giving us naughty all-knowing winks. Clearly past the embarrassment stage, I returned their winks with one of my own.

  “Mikey’s going to fix my van,” Phoenix said, skipping toward the gang. “We’ll get to Washington, even if we have to hitchhike, right?” In mid-twirl, she linked Steve’s neck and planted a smacker on his mouth.

  Spacey Phoenix had been restored.

  The exponential stink of liquor, sweat, and blood fermented in my stomach. Sweltering, I removed my coat and drooped it over my arm. Michael’s shirt had adhered to his back, and driving his hand into his hair, he unglued it from his temples and forehead.

  The main events were coming to a close. And when Raven and Tom turned from the velvet cording, their faces and clothes were peppered with blood specks.

  Gah.

  The announcer stepped into the ring; he threw his arms over his head, hushing spectators. “Ladies and Gentlemen, once a month is amateur night,” he said, amplifying his voice to be heard over the crowd. “Here are the rules. The challenger must stay
on his feet for five minutes.” He paused and paced, checking the men in the crowd. “That’s the rules.”

  Bellowing projected.

  The announcer held up his hands for silence. “A monetary prize of two hundred dollars will be awarded to the man who can stay on his feet for five minutes. If… If by some incredible miracle the fight continues to a knock-out by the amateur, the house will grant a prize of one thousand dollars.”

  Buzzing bowled around the spectators, and men began pushing and shoving their counterparts to step forward.

  “This is cool,” Stevie said, impressed. “We’ve never hit amateur night before.”

  “Why don’t you challenge?” Tom elbowed Stevie’s arm. “You’re a scrapper. I bet you could stand for at least five minutes.”

  Incredulous, I stared at my brother. I knew what the dumbass was thinking.

  “I’m going to get that money for your van,” said Stevie to Phoenix.

  He veered toward the ring and opened his mouth to volunteer. Before he had a chance to speak, I punched him in the stomach. “Oomph.” He bent over and grasped his gut, saying, “What the hell, Mary.”

  “Are you out of your mind? You can’t fight.”

  “Mary’s right, baby,” Phoenix chimed in. “You may get your pretty face hurt.” She touched a fingertip to his cheek and drew a line down his throat.

  “Steve’s a crafty dude,” Monty said, “I’ve seen him outmatch just about everybody.”

  “This isn’t podunk Lancaster with testosterone filled boys,” I said, interfering again. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “We came to make some dough.” Stevie pinned me with resentful eyes. “I told Phoenix I didn’t want you tagging along. I figured you’d spoil things.”

  “If you think I’m scraping your mangled bones off this concrete then yo—”

  “Hey, guys,” Michael butt in. “The club isn’t going to relinquish two hundred or a grand on an impulse. Let’s wait until we see who they have stashed away to rival the amateur.”

  Investigating the people milling about, I caught a glimpse of the beefy doorman plunking down the staircase from the balcony. When whoops and clapping split the air I brought my interest back to the ring. A man had called out a challenge. He was built, twenty-something and a heavyweight who might be able to take the prize. He ducked under the cord.