Iris served the dinner right on time that evening, then sat in silence as she witnessed its unceremonious ingestion by greedy male mouths amid the bumping of elbows and spilling of milk and sharing of bread and banter. No one seemed to appreciate that she had rolled up the meat loaf with a special Swiss cheese and spinach filling, or that the potatoes had been baked not once, but twice, after the pulp had been mashed up with butter and seasonings, and spooned back in the skins again. Lily had called earlier to say that James had invited her to stay out and have a pizza, which meant she would not be home to help clean up after dinner. Iris had told her not to worry and enjoy herself, but that meant she would have to get the dishes done in a jiffy. Thinking about her upcoming date, Iris had been unable to eat a thing, but knowing her father insisted on seeing the whole family gathered at the table for dinner, she did not want draw any attention to herself by asking to be excused. She prayed to God that it would be over with soon, and willed her brothers and father to accelerate their mastication, fill their bellies and get the heck out of the kitchen.
At last, her father downed his last sip of coffee and snubbed out his cigarette, and complimented her on the delicious dinner, which buoyed her spirits as she tidied up, and made her feel not all her efforts were in vain. When she finished, she rushed upstairs to the bedroom Iris and Lily had taken over when the older girls moved out of the house. The bedroom was larger than their old one, and faced south, like the sunroom over which it was positioned. The room had three single beds, a more favorable accommodation than one double bed, now that Iris and Lily preferred to fall asleep embracing fantasies of their boyfriends, rather than each other and the fairy stories of their childhood. The extra bed came in handy when Frances or another girlfriend stayed overnight, and the room also offered a more spacious closet, whose fake wood accordion door Iris now slid open on its tracks, and selected a flowered skirt and peasant blouse she had splurged on at SaveMart when she cashed her paycheck just the day before. Nervously glancing at the time on the old clock radio Marguerite had left behind when she went away to college in New York City, she flipped its switch.
“And that was Nazareth, with ‘Love Hurts,’” the DeeJay on WBCF announced.
“Ouch! So did that!” Iris cried after poking herself in the eye with the mascara wand. She wet two fingers with saliva to wipe the smudge on her lid as the music faded.
“And if it hurts too much, there are at least fifty ways to leave that lover. Here’s Paul Simon, to tell you how!”
Iris switched off the radio, which was only making her more jittery, finished getting ready, and rushed down the stairs, knowing that Rick would probably already be waiting in the driveway. Hearing snatches of an animated discussion filtering in through the screen door that led to the garage, she paused for a moment in the kitchen. She immediately recognized the owners of the two male voices engaged in the conversation: one belonged to her father, the other to Rick.
“… and if the country is going to the dogs, we can thank the women’s libbers!” She could visualize the jugular vein pulsating in her father’s neck as clearly as she could hear his voice.
“You’re absolutely right, Mr. Capotosti! The strength of our nation depends on the strength of our families. The women’s libbers, by destroying their homes, are destroying our country! ‘The wise woman builds her house, but with her own hands the foolish one tears hers down.’ Proverbs, chapter fourteen, verse one.”
“What could be more rewarding to a woman than raising a family? Nothing!” Iris’s father continued. “I don’t care what they say, all this feminist baloney is the result of envy and jealousy. Do you see any normal, attractive women out there burning their bras and blabbing about birth control? No! It’s the mean ones, the ugly ones, the ones no man would touch with a ten-foot pole, the frigid intellectuals, the lesbians. The ones that will never have a family because no real man would want them. They’re the ones getting the normal women all riled up.”
Iris rolled her eyes and sighed. She was sick to death of her father’s ranting. So was Auntie Rosa, who had to listen to him over endless cups of coffee in the evenings, though she would never admit it. Ever since her mother had left home and word got out that she was attending rallies to push the passage of the Equal Rights Amendment, there had been an escalation in his outbursts of rage directed at the women’s liberation movement in general, and the women from the local NOW chapter that had befriended and sheltered her mother in particular. No one, not even her father, could really believe that men and women weren’t entitled to the same rights, could they? Iris was terrified that she might one day be asked to declare her stance, even though she knew the mere fact that she had stuck by her father’s side and was running his household would be interpreted by him as proof that she sustained his convictions. Iris didn’t really know how she felt about her mother’s activities, and was not interested in passing judgement on either of her parents; all she was interested in was keeping the peace at home. But her father needed to vent his anger, and was always eager to blow some steam into a fresh set of ears. Rick, on more than one occasion, had been quick to express his sympathy with a respectful pat on the shoulder accompanied by a Scripture verse or two, nonchalantly extracted from context and adapted to suit the purpose, thus earning her father’s instant admiration.
Having heard enough, she called, “Hey, you’re here!” and walked out to the garage to greet Rick, letting the screen door slam behind her. Though she would never dream of hugging or kissing him in front of her father, she was bewildered by the realization that she was not so inclined, after hearing him side so openly with her father in her absence. She found herself disturbed by the sight of him standing there in her garage, wearing a pair of plaid shorts, a thick mat of black hair covering his muscular legs, and felt slightly silly in the new skirt and blouse she had put on for their date in the hope that he would take her someplace nice. “Shall we go?” Iris heard her voice suggest.
“We were having a nice chat,” Rick said, grinning. “But we’ll pick up where we left off next time, right Mr. C.?”
Mister C.? Really? Iris wondered when he had come up with that.
Iris’s father stopped working on the bicycle he was repairing, wiped his hand on a grease rag, and shook Rick’s. “You kids have a nice evening,” he said, more to Rick than to Iris.
“Your daughter is in good hands, Mr. C.!” Rick said.
“I know, son,” her father said with a wink, as he returned to his tinkering. “Thank God.”
Rick held the door open for Iris as she got into the car, and held her hand in his as he steered the vehicle toward the vestiges of sunlight fading from the multicolored sky. Iris rolled her window down all the way, hoping the breeze would chase away her slight unease and the humidity that was already making her perspire.
“I want to take you somewhere special tonight, Alice,” Rick said, as they drove straight down Route 35.
“Great – wait, did you call me Alice?” Iris asked, one ear happy to hear that he had special plans after all, the other ear wondering whether his words had been distorted by the wind.
“I guess I did,” Rick said. “Funny.”
“Why is it funny? Who is Alice, anyway?”
“Alice. You know. The girl I went out with all during high school? The girl I was planning to marry after college, until she broke up with me?”
Iris knew she could just let it slide, not say anything, and change the subject. She hated discussions of any kind, and really needed to relax this evening, but felt compelled to speak up. “May I ask why are you thinking about Alice?” she blurted out.
“I’m not thinking about Alice. It must have been a slip of the tongue,” Rick said.
Iris felt her face flush with anger, but remained silent. Rick was thinking of his ex-girlfriend. Perfect icing on the cake of crap she had caught him feeding her father out in the garage. Her expectations of a romantic evening were fading more swiftly than the daylight they pursued as they contin
ued their wordless drive due west, until Rick turned down the service road that led to the college campus.
“It’s so peaceful here in summer. Next week when classes start, it’ll be totally different,” Rick said in a light, conversational tone, as he pulled into a student parking space and switched off the engine. He reached into the back seat and grabbed a shopping bag, which contained a smaller, brown paper bag and some other unidentifiable objects.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“You’ll see,” Rick replied. The grounds were deserted, the evening was still, the humidity thick. As he led her down a footpath, she was grateful for the crunching sound of the gravel beneath their feet, which muffled the gurgling and growling produced by the waves of hunger and agitation roiling in her empty stomach. They strolled without touching or talking, accompanied by the soft song of crickets and the scents of freshly mowed lawns and sappy pine. By the time Rick stepped onto the wooden gazebo and extended his hand to help her up, she had calmed considerably. Iris. Alice. To be honest, their names were rather similar, and anyone could make an innocent slip of the tongue.
“Have a seat,” Rick said to her, patting the floor of the gazebo next to where he sat, cross-legged. Iris sat and folded her legs gracefully to one side and arranged her skirt over them, leaving a suitably seductive amount of skin peeking from beneath the flowered fabric, while Rick rustled around in his shopping bag. He took out the brown paper bag, from which he extracted a bottle. Dusk had fallen, but there was enough light for Iris to recognize the label: Thunderbird, the same brand of cheap red wine in which her father indulged on Sundays. Rick was full of surprises tonight. She never would have pegged him for the type who would bring alcohol onto the campus, where it was strictly prohibited, and offer it to a girl under legal drinking age. The evening might turn out to be fun after all.
“Are we celebrating something?” she asked.
“Yes. In fact, we’re celebrating something quite extraordinary,” Rick said. He rummaged around in the shopping bag and pulled out a linen dishtowel, which he spread out and smoothed with his hands. Next, he produced an object rolled up in newspaper, which he proceeded to unwrap, revealing a beautiful wine goblet. He set the goblet down carefully on the dishtowel. Lastly, he pulled out a loaf of Italian bread, and laid it down next to the glass. Iris was wishing he would pull out a hunk of provolone to go with it before she fainted from hunger. Her stomach performed cartwheels at the thought.
“It’s like paradise, just the two of us, here together,” Rick said, looking deep into her eyes. “I’ve been wanting to do this ever since I met you.” A swarm of butterflies invaded her stomach, flitting over all the churning and growling.
Rick unscrewed the cap off the bottle of wine, and poured some into the goblet. Iris had never had many opportunities to drink wine, but she liked that tight gurgling sound it made when it was poured from a freshly opened bottle. She hoped a nip would settle her stomach.
“Wait - just one more final touch,” Rick said as he produced a candle in a jar, lit it and set it down between them.
Wine and candlelight! She didn’t know where all this European romanticism had come from, but it excited her, and inspired her to flaunt her French. “Mon amour! C’est un reve!” she whispered.
Rick took her hands in his, kissing each finger gently, one by one; his eyelids made that same fluttering motion as her father’s did when he was overcome with emotion or trying to be delicate. After giving her hands a final squeeze, Rick picked up the loaf of Italian bread, tore off a chunk, and held it out to her. A deep, articulate growl issued from her stomach when she noticed from the wrapper that the bread was from Pontillo’s, her favorite bakery. She adored Italian bread, with or without cheese, and knew she had better eat some before the sounds coming from her stomach really embarrassed her.
“Eat, Iris,” Rick said.
She brought the bread to her lips, inhaled its yeasty scent, sank her teeth into the crispy crust. The taste was nothing short of divine.
“Eat of my body, which has been given up for you,” Rick said, as Iris began to chew.
“What?” she asked, in a voice muffled by the chunk of bread crammed in her mouth.
Instead of answering, Rick tore off another piece of bread and ate it. When he had finished chewing, he raised the goblet of wine and passed it to her.
“Drink, Iris,” he said, proffering the glass, probably real crystal, judging by the way it sparkled in the candlelight. Choking on a chunk of crust that had become lodged in her throat, she reached for the glass, and gulped down a generous swig of wine, which made her gag. She wished she had nibbled more daintily on the bread, instead of biting off such a big piece, but her hunger had made her greedy.
“Drink of my blood, which has been shed for you,” Rick said, raising his voice to make himself heard over Iris’s coughing.
“Blood? What blood?” she sputtered, struggling to regain control of the voice devastated by the bitter wine and jagged crust as they tore through her esophagus. “What are you talking about? That’s Thunderbird!”
“Where two or three are gathered in my name, there I am in the midst of them,” Rick said, taking a sip from the goblet.
He was definitely acting weird tonight, even weirder than on their first date. Now he was playing Jesus Christ himself! She wasn’t about to let him turn her Friday night into a prayer meeting, or get into a discussion about the Scripture.
“I know that verse,” she said. “Catholics do read the gospel, you know, and I do go to Living Youth bible study.”
“Then you must know that a woman should learn in quietness and full submission!”
“Aren’t you mixing things up a bit, Rick? You can’t just go around preaching and giving people fake communion as if you were a priest. Can’t we just have a little fun and enjoy our picnic?”
“What could bring more joy than the Savior’s love? Don’t you feel it, here, with us? Don’t you want to celebrate the communion of our souls, and bask in the grace of the Holy Spirit?” Rick grabbed her by the shoulders, with too much force, and stared into her eyes, with too much intensity. “Don’t you?” he repeated, in a tight, low voice.
“Of course,” she said, softly. She was afraid of making him more upset, but she had to let him know he could not play God with her. “But I think what you’re doing is sacrilegious.”
The reflection of the flame flickered on the lenses of his glasses, obliterating the twin pools of darkness behind them. A faint breeze heavy with unease stirred the sticky air.
“Rick - ” she began, but before she could come up with any other words to dissuade him from whatever mission he was on, with one swift movement, he pushed her to the floor of the gazebo and straddled her hips, knocking over the bottle of Thunderbird with his knee.
“Why are you resisting me, Alice?” he asked, pinning her shoulders to the floorboards. “Why?”
“I’M NOT ALICE!” Iris screamed, her heart thumping against her ribcage. “Let me go! You’re hurting me!”
“It’s the Scripture, Alice! Woman must submit to man. That is how it is meant to be,” Rick said in an even voice, as if he were explaining why little girls should brush their teeth before going to bed.
“No! That’s not what it means!” Iris channeled all her strength into the muscles of her abdomen and forearms, in an effort to pull herself to her elbows, but Rick grabbed her wrists out from under her, pushed her elbows flat against her sides, and pinned them down with his knees.
“Let me go!” she cried, unable to move. Rick unfastened his belt and unzipped his shorts. “STOP!” she screamed at him. “HELP!” she called out, to anyone, to no one, to the night.
“Silence!” Rick ordered, sliding his hands beneath the elastic band of his underwear to free his penis. The sight of his erection teetering in front of her face repulsed her, but she thrust her head toward it, ordering her mouth to bite it, just as Rick pulled back, leaving her snapping at the thick night air.
; “Naughty Alice!” he hissed, pressing one hand over her mouth, waving his penis at her with the other. He stared down at her as he began masturbating. She may not be able to move, but he couldn’t make her watch; squeezing her eyes shut, she concentrated on breathing through her nose, on trying to calm down. It could be worse, she reasoned. She doubted he would force himself inside her, or seriously hurt her, or kill her. She sobbed silently as she waited for him to finish, and in the few long minutes it took him to baptize her with the seed of man, she focused on the feel of the splintered wood jabbing her arms and shoulders, on the dampness of the spilled wine seeping through the fabric of her new skirt, on the persistence of the mosquito feeding on her ankle, on the smell of soap on the hand that silenced her.
The light on the back porch was the only one shining, meaning her father had gone to bed; he rarely waited up for anyone anymore, especially if he knew his daughters were in good hands. Rick waited in the driveway until Iris had let herself in the unlocked door, then backed out and drove away. She crept up the stairs, taking care to place her feet close to the walls where the wood creaked less, and slipped into the bathroom. Despite the heat, she yearned to take a scalding bath, but running the water would make too much noise in the silent house. Averting her eyes from the reflection in the mirror, she ran her fingers through her hair, but they got stuck in the curls clumped together with caked semen. She filled the sink with water as hot as she could stand it, and dunked her head repeatedly, then changed the water, and sponge-washed the rest of her body. She brushed her teeth and flossed, like she did every night, then tiptoed into her dark room, where Lily was sound asleep; she stirred only slightly when Iris slid the closet door open to toss her soiled clothes inside.
The Complete Series Page 39