by Finas, A. G.
He follows them. “Where are you going? This party's just getting started!” he shouts as they get in the car. As Gina backs the car out; Allie watches him take off his shirt and move to the middle of the street. He is still thrusting away even as he becomes a speck in Gina's rear-view mirror.
“You're a lucky girl,” Gina says.
“The luckiest,” Allie mumbles.
“Your turn to ring,” Gina tells Allie at the doorstep of thirty-three Cranberry Lane. The doorbell button hums and crackles. It dangles at the ends of frayed black and white wires at least a foot down from its original mounting.
Allie sees the tiny orange light shining from the doorbell's underbelly and shakes her head. “I don't think so,” she says.
“So we're both too young to die,” Gina says before knocking on the dirty white hollow core door.
A graying woman in a sunny yellow dress answers. “Are you my Tommy's friends?” she asks as she tries to hug Allie. Her voice is heavy with hope and she smells as though she has been rolling in potpourri. They explain that they don't know Tommy but Allie would like to use her bathroom and Gina would like to save her soul if she wouldn't mind.
The woman beams and tilts her head. “TOMMY!” she shouts. “I'll have my Tommy escort you to the potty,” she says sweetly. “My Tommy is shy but very handsome,” she whispers. And look at you! You're so darling! And religious! My Tommy could use some of that, you know. I think you would get along very well. All three of you,” the lady says innocently enough. Allie can feel Gina holding in her laughter.
Don't Gina, Allie thinks.
“Allie is looking for a husband,” Gina says.
“No, my friend here is joking. I'm actually engaged,” Allie says.
“ Looking for a husband!” The lady exclaims hungrily. “My Tommy is looking for a wife like you, you know. Or he should be. Such a handsome boy and he's wasting all his seed in that filthy sock he hides under his- TOMMY! What was I saying?” She lets out a long sigh and pats her stomach dolefully. “Oh yes. My Tommy has promised me a grand baby in my stocking for next Christmas.”
Gina chortles.
Allie stops herself from explaining that they need to go- that she is only pretending to be a waterlogged Jehova's Witness as part of Gina's weird bachelorette party scavenger hunt. An escort to the bathroom-particularly one with a crazy mother would be a major inhibition.
They knew the odds of being invited inside any given home were slim, so once the door was answered; Allie would set her tote bag down and ask to use the bathroom. While Gina was putting her religious studies minor to work, Allie would search for what they needed. She stuffed the loot into a under her dress into a soft pouch that cautious travelers wear. If the item wouldn't fit there, she would stick it down her nylons. Until now, their plan has gone surprisingly well.
Allie winces, then, catching a blast of something rotten coming from the house, winces again.
“Oh well, he's a businessman you know...so-” The woman interrupts herself once more. “TOMMY THERE'S A YOUNG, POSSIBLY FERTILE LADY HERE TO SEE YOU!.... TOMMY?!!!?....”
Allie prepares to watch the poor woman lose her mind. Instead, the woman sighs again and reverts back to being the smiling person who answered the door.
“Actually, I don't think I have to use the bathroom anymore,” Allie says.
“Oh don't be silly!” The woman says. She stands aside and motions into the house. “There's one just off the living room but my Tommy had an accident in there so we don't use that one anymore. Go in and there's a hallway on your right and then the bathroom is two doors down on your left. My Tommy's room is across from it. He says he doesn't like to be disturbed, but I'm sure he'll make an exception for a pretty girl like you if you want to say 'hi'. Why don't you go in and say 'hi', dear?”
“Yeah, go say 'hi', Allie!” Gina says.
Allie gives Gina a pleading look as the woman and Gina practically stuff her into the house.
“We're getting ready to renovate so you'll have to forgive the mess, dear.”
Some things are beyond forgiveness, Allie thinks as she surveys her dim surroundings. The house seems to be slowly collapsing.
The faded yellow wallpaper is soiled and torn in places as though it had been attacked by garden tools. Allie walks past a couch that looks half eaten. She flips on a light switch but instead of illumination, something falls from the wall across the room. This place is an incubator for headlines, Allie thinks. Curiosity is the only thing keeping her from running back outside.
Allie stops to inspect the remaining items on the scavenger hunt list: television remote, calculator, dirty magazine.
Tommy has to be good for the dirty magazine, she thinks. I'll just bat my eyes and explain why I'm here and he'll be more than happy to cooperate. Too bad I don't have those barbecue tongs I got at the last house to grab it.
She knocks on the door Tommy's mother indicated was his.
“Tommy? You in there Tommy?” Allie takes a deep breath and braces herself. He probably died years ago, she thinks, expecting to be confronted with a frozen-in-time bedroom with Tommy's corpse fixed into a youthful pose. Instead it's a creepy, simply appointed room that is somewhat cleaner than the rest of the house. A hammock and a lamp are under the window. In the middle is an office chair parked at a card table. Allie walks cautiously to it and sees a calculator, stacks of hundred dollar bills and a plastic sandwich bag filled with pills.
“A drug dealer, ” Allie thinks.
“ I prefer the term 'human potential pioneer'.” It's a man's voice, and it's coming from behind her. Allie freezes. She was certain she was alone. “And I'm very much alive, thank you very much. More so than most,” he says.
OH SHIT...are you...reading my thoughts? Allie thinks as she turns around. He is about her age and shorter, thick square rimmed glasses framing a pale, expressionless face. Not ugly but not what Allie would consider handsome, either.
“Mother doesn't allow cussing in the house and yes; the occasional ability to read minds is one possible side effect. It usually happens only after several doses though. And one can only read the thoughts of the weak minded.”
“Hey.”
“A joke. Mother doesn't like it when her Tommy is called a 'drug dealer'.” He brushes past her to the table. “So you're curious. The tablets are 30 milligram doses of DX50. My invention. It aligns you with your true intentions. With these babies, nothing your heart desires is out of reach. It's Tony Robbins in pill form.”
“A Tony Robbins drug? I'm sorry, but crack has already been invented.”
“ Mother doesn't like it when Tony Robbins is insulted.”
“Sorry, amphetamines,” she says.
“ Please. This is light years beyond TRI and it's unlike any psycho stimulant you're ever heard of. DX50 is non addictive with no known negative side effects. I won't waste time going into the specific receptors and molecules involved, not with an economics major such as yourself who dreams of being a painter and whose best friend is waiting for her to return so they can resume their bachelorette party looting spree.”
“How did you know.... of course. You can read minds.”
He moves around the table, closer to her, his expression narrowing. He grabs her hand lightly.
“Imagine a few years from now- billionaires in a bidding war for your work in a Southeby's auction. But are you there? No.”
“Because you've killed me off so the value of my art that you own skyrockets?”
“No. But I like the way you think. Trust me, I do,” he says plainly. “No. For you it's just another day at your French chateau enjoying the things that really matter to you. Painting. Basking in the sun. Enjoying the best food, the best wine, the best company. With DX50, this can happen.”
Allie pulls her hand away just as he tries to bring it to his lips.
“It's a hundred dollars per 30 milligram dose, but for you, my coy mistress, I'll let the first two go in exchange for some...lets just call it non-m
onetary compensation. I know you're intelligent enough to recognize that our jeans are likely to be compatible. Mother told you of my promise and I intend to make good on it.”
Allie is mortified.
“No thanks. You aren't getting anywhere near me and if you try, I'll scream.”
“Suit yourself, Allie.” She shivers at the sound of her name. “ Go ahead. Take the calculator. The magazines are in the closet. Take any you want except for the January and February 1993 issues of 'Juicy Booty'. They were autographed by Candy Appleton- the only Miss Juicy Booty with a booty too juicy to be contained in one month.”
What the hell? Allie stares at Tommy and blinks then carefully picks up the calculator and turns to leave in awkward silence. As she leaves, she repeats to herself over and over a new mantra- “Stay out of my head, you pervert, stay out of my head, you pervert.”
Tommy's mother blocks the doorway so that Allie is unable to leave without first giving her a hug. As she squirms in her potpourri scented bosom, she hears Tommy's voice. “I'll be seeing you later, Allie,” he says.
“What was that all about?” Gina asks. “Did you give him your number?”
“Never mind. I don't want to talk about it. And we're skipping the dirty magazine,” Allie announces. “In fact, let's just be done,” she says.
“Wait wait wait.” Gina grabs Allie by the arm. “You didn't let him try to put a baby in you, did you? Because if you did- now don't quote me on this- but that that may be a reasonable substitute for the dirty magazine. I dunno. We'd have to take your case in front of the board.”
Gina convinces her that Tommy wasn't reading her mind, just her body language. It wouldn't be too hard to guess what she was thinking in a situation like that. Other details- like the items on her scavenger hunt list and her name and college major and aspirations as a painter were probably overheard or just good guesses.
“Or most likely- he's just another in my long line of potentially dangerous stalkers.”
“Right! See! That's the spirit!” Gina cries.
They have reached a cul-de-sac. Allie walks toward a blue and pink Victorian house with white trim. “I bet these people don't have any weapons or attack animals or creepy mother/son duos,” she says. But Gina isn't listening. She's staring at an ivy strangled Tudor on top of a steep, sprinkler drenched hill.
“So cool!” Gina cries as she starts toward it.
“No! we'll get soaked!”
Gina holds her hand up and addresses a hissing sprinkler head. “Halt in the name of King Triton!” she shouts. Nothing. She tries again. “Halt in the name of Ursula!” At once, the sprinkler heads sputter, then bleed out and retreat underground. “I AM A MAGICAL BITCH!” Gina shouts.
“ I don't know about the 'magical' part- unless you're one of Tommy's customers,” Allie says.
“Maybe I am! C'mon!” Gina smirks and bounds toward the house, her earth toned ankle length dress and light sweater jacket flapping in the breeze.
Allie bites her bottom lip. Not only is the walkway wet and sloping but it's also unfinished. Allie tests the corner of a slab. The piece tips. Loose, wet sandstone slabs. Very bad if we need to run away. The stuff that shameful deaths are made of. As Allie makes her way to the door, she imagines her mother eulogizing her:
“Twenty six years old. A month from her wedding. But there's a certain type of girl that dashes her head on some rocks while pretending to be a Jehova's Witness in order to steal some poor stranger's TV remote. Lets face it people, we were all just waiting for the inevitable, weren't we?” (pause for laughter)
Two large rectangular windows on opposite sides of the door offer a clear view inside: lots of dark wood, black and white tile and wrought iron light fixtures. Ugh. An old CEO or government official probably lives here, Allie thinks. Someone with real power. Gina rings the doorbell. A series of chimes goes off. Cherubs with bells. Allie's stomach churns. Please don't answer. Please don't answer. She takes a deep breath, smooths her dress, peeks into her tote bag and feels a little rush of sadness. The arm of a sock monkey she snatched pokes through the stolen items as though it's drowning.
“Shhh! Someone's coming,”Allie says.
Gina gives Allie a smiling glance. Through the windows they can see what appears to be a young and very handsome priest approaching. His welcoming smile relaxes Allie a little and yet makes her feel more guilty about what it is they are about to do. “This is ridiculous. We can't steal from a priest. Let's go. He probably doesn't even have a TV,” Allie whispers under her breath.
The priest cracks open the door. “Let me guess...proselytizers?” he asks. Allie and Gina exchange glances.
“We're Jehova's Witnesses,” Allie says.
“Finally! Been getting bored with this Catholicism thing, so I decided long ago to let the first proselytizers to come to our door convert me. Congratulations!”
Allie and Gina laugh. “Welcome aboard,” Gina says, handing him a pamphlet.
“Great. Come on in then and lets celebrate with muffins. Wait. We Jehova's Witnesses can have muffins, right?”
“Yes,” the girls say in unison.
“Whew! That could have been a deal breaker.”
All the walking and theft and Jehova's Witness impersonating had left them starving. They were running on tequila shots and an apple that Allie had stolen from a bungalow and cut in two with a kitchen knife stolen from a duplex on a small cutting board taken from another bungalow.
He leads them down the long hallway and into a large, stately parlor. So much for that vow of poverty thing, Allie thinks.
“ Have a seat on the couch there and I'll get the muffins.”
As he goes into the kitchen, Allie and Gina spot the remote control on the coffee table at the same time. Allie grabs the remote and starts toward the door but Gina puts her hand out to stop her. “Wait.”
“Lets go! What are you doing?” Allie whispers.
“But I'm hungry,” Gina protests.
“No! We're going now!”
“Okay, okay!”
They run, trying to stifle their laughter as the scavenger hunt items rattle around the tote bag but as they approach the door, another young priest steps out of the coatroom, blocking their exit. Allie's heart pounds. I don't think I can hug my way out of this one.
“I'm sorry but we can't let you leave yet,” he says with a stern look in his eye.
Allie feels the little hairs on the back of her neck standing up. “What do you mean?”
He takes the stunned girls by the arm and escorts them back to the parlor. “Please, stay. Chat.”
“We're sorry, here's your remote,” Allie says numbly, taking the remote out of the tote bag. “This was just a scavenger hunt. Please just let us go. Please, ” Allie says as he sits them down. Gina is strangely reserved. She should have given him a piece of her mind or decked him by now. Why are we complying? Say something, Gina.
He pushes some buttons on the remote. The blinds close and the lights turn off, making the room completely black.
“You can't leave until you've tried our muffins.”
Suddenly, the room comes alive with throbbing electronic music and flashing lights. The priest who had first greeted them at the door jumps from out of nowhere onto the coffee table, thrusting his pelvis to the beat. The rest of the bachelorette party filters in from different rooms, screaming and surrounding Allie, who is doubled over in laughter. In a flash, The priest on the table tears away his pants, revealing a bulging leopard print codpiece which he thrusts at the faces of the gleeful girls. The girls rip off his shirt, exposing his athletic body.
He motions for Allie to stand up. He takes her hand and guides it over his hard, oiled torso, then down behind his codpiece. She jerks her hand away in horror, unaware that what she is feeling is his manhood with miniature muffins packed around it. He pulls a few out. Allie cringes as he feeds her one. Blueberry.
The priest who had accosted them at the door is now down to his codpiece and clerical coll
ar too. And soon, two other men appear- one dressed as a fireman and the other as a milkman. The fireman has a toy fire extinguisher filled with tequila which he shoots into the girls' mouths. The milkman has a milk crate filled with bottles of White Russians.
When the bottles are almost empty, Gina assembles the four men so they surround Allie on all sides and grind against her. Allie finds herself particularly attracted to the fireman and pushes him away from the group by his chest into a corner. She feels down the ripples of his body and then into his codpiece. I'm only looking for miniature baked goods. I'm only looking for miniature baked goods, she says to herself. Allie frowns and pulls away. No baked goods but plenty of fire hose. Hot, thick fire hose. Bigger than her fiance Nick's, she notices. Tempting. She averts her eyes from his sexy smirk.