The Girl Before

by Rena Olsen

  “I came looking for Papa,” Glen lies smoothly. “I had some ideas about the expansions we were talking about.”

  “Papa never participates in the lessons with the girls,” Mama says, unconvinced. “There would be no reason for you to stay once you saw what was going on.”

  “Yes,” Glen says, not missing a beat. “But in a few years Clara and I will be running things, and I thought this was a good opportunity to practice doing some things together. Besides,” he continues, flashing his most flirtatious smile at the rest of the girls in the room, “it’s not like we were unchaperoned. We had quite a large audience, actually, and I swear nothing happened.”

  Everyone is so entranced with Glen’s antics, even Mama, that no one notices when Papa enters the room until the smile slips off Glen’s face.

  “What the hell, boy?” Papa says, his voice deceptively calm. This is the voice he uses right before handing down some sort of punishment. He has been using it more and more around Glen and me, no matter what we do. We are still being punished for our indiscretions, as he calls them. I hope our punishment will not last the rest of our lives. Or his.

  “I was just looking for you, Papa, and—” Glen begins, but Papa silences him with a hand.

  “I heard your damn circus act from down the hall. You will work on things with Clara when I say it is time. Not a moment before. Now get to my office, boy, and we’ll see what ideas you have for me.” He manages to inject enough venom into his words to shoot icy daggers of fear down my arms, and I glance at Glen, worried at his reaction.

  Glen squares his shoulders, his jaw ticking. “Yes, sir,” he replies, and I relax only a little. At least he won’t be causing a scene here. I try to catch his eye, to give him reassurance, but the playful boy from a few minutes ago has gone, replaced by this angry man who has been showing up more and more often. A pit grows in my stomach as Glen follows his father from the room.

  Before the door shuts behind him, Glen looks back once more. With a small smile, he winks, as if this is all one big joke, but both of us know the time for joking is quickly passing.

  Now

  Connor lied to me. They did not come for me the next day. Or the day after that. I am eating again, and the days are flowing into one another like sticky honey. I sit on my bed and stare at the floor tiles. I stare at the ceiling tiles. I stare at the two-way mirror on the wall and wonder if anyone is watching me. I wonder if this is how my children feel without me. Trapped. Watched. Squeezed.

  Needing a distraction, I begin humming a happy waltz. My feet move in time to the quiet notes, and the bed creaks with the rhythm of their dance. I jump up, take my frame, and move around the room. My humming grows louder, morphing into the nonsense “BA-dum-dum BA-dum-dum” rhythmic notes, and I feel the smile creasing my face as the steps come effortlessly.

  I begin to laugh, whirling myself around the room, twirling to the tune of the waltz only I can hear. My eyes are closed. Without warning, my shin bangs into the sharp metal corner of my bed. I collapse on the floor, reeling in pain. More acute than the pain in my leg is the pain in my heart. For just a moment, I forgot where I was. And now that I’m back, it hurts even more.

  “Well, that was . . . interesting,” an amused voice drawls from the doorway. I peek through my hair to see Meredith leaning just inside the door, a small smile on her face. “I didn’t know you could dance. Or sing, for that matter.”

  I glare, angry at her for teasing me, angry at myself for getting caught up in my memories. I pull myself to my feet and hobble to the bed, favoring my bruised shin.

  Meredith walks into the room. “Connor wanted me to come and get you,” she says. “We decided it’s time for you to see Glen.”

  Then

  The first time I see Glen face-to-face, my breath escapes me. He is the most beautiful boy I have ever seen. Of course, my exposure to boys has been severely limited. Mostly, I see Mama Mae and my sisters, or the older men like Papa G. Glen grew up in the house, but was kept separate from us. When we were younger, we would try to catch glimpses of him without Mama knowing. I was sure I caught him watching me from time to time, too. When Mama Mae suggested to Papa G that they hold dance classes, Mama’s bruises lasted for days. But here we are. With actual boys. If we had been allowed to giggle, I’m sure most of us would be overcome by now.

  The boys come from the training program. Some of them will be trained as bodyguards or manual laborers, and others will be trained to stay on with Papa G. I learned this from Mama Mae. She was not supposed to tell me, I don’t think, but I helped her with the baby last night, and she talks a lot more in the night.

  Mama Mae raps her yardstick on the floor, gaining the attention of everyone in the room. Papa G stands to the side, a frightening look on his face, but he allows Mama to run the show. “These are the rules,” Mama begins, her voice clear and sharp. “You do not speak to each other. You do not touch except where it is required by the dance. You keep your heads up, but look over the shoulder of your partner. These classes are for all of you to learn steps, not for flirting. Any broken rules will result in expulsion from the class and punishment chosen by Papa G. Am I clear?”

  The girls murmur, “Yes, Mama Mae,” in unison, while the boys nod, their expressions solemn. I sneak a glance at Glen, only to find that he is looking at me as well. He winks, and my cheeks flush. I am surprised he is in this class. He looks just like Papa G, except for his eyes, which could only come from Mama Mae. They are bright blue with mischief now, but I imagine they change color with his moods, as Mama’s do.

  Mama has begun pairing boys and girls off. The couples stand awkwardly a few feet apart from each other, looking everywhere but at their partner. When she reaches Glen, he whispers something to her. She swats him, but in a playful way, and nods. “Clara!” She motions me over. “You will partner with Glen.” She begins to walk away, then stops. “I want you to remain in this class, Clara. Glen, behave yourself.” There is a mixture of amusement and warning in her tone, and warmth rarely present, probably reserved for her son.

  When the couples have all been paired, Mama instructs us to face each other, and demonstrates the correct placement of hands. Glen pretends to get them wrong, and his hands end up lower than is appropriate. I risk a glare at him and see that he is watching me, amusement glittering in his blue eyes. He knows the effect he is having on me, and it takes all my willpower to say nothing and follow Mama Mae’s instructions. Glen’s hand travels back to its correct spot before Mama Mae comes to check our position, but I cannot hide the flush in my neck and cheeks. I wonder if the blush will become permanent.

  “It is not becoming to flush, Clara,” Mama scolds. “A lady is comfortable with all situations. Perhaps this exercise will be beneficial for you in more ways than one.” She moves on.

  “It’s benefiting me an awful lot,” Glen whispers, low enough so only I can hear. I pretend I have not heard. “And that dress is benefiting both of us.”

  I fake a cough to hide my laugh. Glen is being completely inappropriate, and completely charming. It is dangerous to feel anything toward a boy who is not a client, and especially this boy. I am being groomed for a very special client, and I will not let Glen distract me. “Behave,” I warn him, refusing to meet his eyes, glancing over to where Mama and Papa stand watching over the couples. My tone is not very convincing, but Glen follows my gaze and settles down, a slight smirk on his face.

  The rest of the lesson goes more smoothly, and Glen only makes one or two more remarks. I feel his eyes on me the entire time, a fact that cannot be lost on Mama Mae, or Papa G, whose eyes are narrowed every time we spin past him. When Mama dismisses us, I line up with the other girls and march out, head held high, back straight. It is difficult to stand tall with the weight of three pairs of eyes boring into me.

  Now

  The first time I see Glen in his jumpsuit, my heart stops. He looks pale, and thinner than
I remember, but handsome as ever. I fantasized about our reunion the entire drive to the prison where Glen is being held, and I do not know what to expect when I enter the room, but no one stops Glen as he rises and comes around the table to gather me in his arms.

  He smells wrong, strong with the scent of bar soap and industrial laundry detergent. Nothing like his normal citrusy aftershave. Though the feel of his arms is familiar, there is something off. He feels less substantial, and he grips my body like a lifeline. He buries his face in my neck, and suddenly I feel as if I am the one holding him up. It doesn’t last long.

  As abruptly as he grabbed me, he releases me, and I stumble back. I become aware of the eyes on us from all around the room. Connor and Meredith stand in one corner, Glen’s guards in another. I walk on shaky legs to a metal table and sink into one of the hard chairs pushed against it. Glen ignores the chairs on the other side and takes one next to me, claiming my hand in a tight grasp, staring at me as if he is seeing me for the first time.

  Except, unlike when he really saw me for the first time, now there is desperation in his eyes. He looks at me as if he’s already lost me. But I’m not going anywhere. When we work this all out, we’ll go and collect our children, and we’ll find someplace far away from here. Far away from anyone who would try to tear us apart. If we have to go without the children, though it pains me to think of it, at least Glen and I will be together. Forever.

  I do not notice that Connor has taken a seat across from us until he clears his throat. I tear myself from Glen’s eyes, where I have been swimming, feeling whole again, and glance at Connor. I put my other hand on top of Glen’s, reassuring him that they will have to rip me away from him if they try to part us again.

  “Glen,” Connor says. “You have been reasonably cooperative so far. We are hoping you can convince Clara to cooperate as well.”

  Glen’s jaw clenches. Not a good sign. Glen is not used to taking orders, even if they are worded as nicely as Connor’s. He also doesn’t like people talking to him about me. In fact, he prefers if people just pretend I do not exist as much as possible. Even most of his men rarely address me directly. Only the highest ranking of his group dare to approach me or talk with familiarity.

  “I told you before,” Glen says, a slight tremble betraying the anger underneath, “she has nothing to do with any of this. She knows nothing. She can’t help you.”

  Connor smiles. “I very much doubt that. I think she could be very helpful.” His gaze shifts to me. “Don’t you want to help, Clara?”

  I look to Glen for guidance. He shakes his head slightly, and I fix my gaze on the table, silent as ever. This is confirmation that I have been making the right choice. Anxiety stiffens my muscles as I consider Glen’s reaction if I had been talking to these people. The tremor must have reached my hand, because Glen raises an eyebrow in my direction, questioning. Of course, I cannot answer. If they would leave us alone, maybe we could talk.

  Glen has always had a special sense of my feelings. It is one of the things that drew me to him. He looks at Connor. “Give me twenty minutes with her,” he says. “We’ll work something out.”

  “Five,” Connor counters.

  “Ten.”

  A pause.

  “Five.” Connor stands and smooths his suit jacket. Without another word, he leads the group from the room. Soon, we are alone.

  “Glen—” I begin.

  “Shh,” Glen whispers, just barely loud enough for me to hear. “We’re being recorded.”

  My eyes widen. I do not know why I didn’t figure this out before. Of course they are recording. They probably have been all along. I feel violated, though I haven’t said anything to be recorded. I want to wrap my arms around myself, shield myself from further intrusion, but Glen holds fast to my hands, refusing to relinquish them.

  “We don’t have much time, Clare,” Glen says, his whisper becoming more urgent. “You have to talk to them, give them something. You have to pretend to cooperate, make them think you have nothing to hide. It’s the only way to keep you safe.”

  My mouth falls open. First he told me to remain silent, now he wants me to talk? I hide my surprise and nod. Even with people listening, I know Glen will not hesitate to punish me for questioning him.

  “What should I tell them?” These are my first words. Though I said his name earlier, the words come out as if being forced through a pile of pebbles in my throat. My voice sounds strange to me, and I cannot keep as quiet as Glen. One of his hands shoots up to cover my mouth.

  “Quiet, Clara,” he scolds, and I know he is cross with me. I blink at him and he removes his hand from my mouth and moves it around to cup the back of my neck. He leans in, his voice barely a whisper, his breath disturbing the hair falling around my ear. To an observer it would look as if we are simply sitting as close as possible. “Tell them only that you cared for the girls. Do not mention the other branches. Do not mention Papa G or Mama Mae. And do not mention South Dakota.”

  I never knew about Glen’s other businesses.

  I never knew Glen’s parents.

  And South Dakota never happened.

  I memorize my new reality, each piece clicking neatly into place. A small smile curves my lips. “Of course.” This time I master the quiet whisper.

  Glen leans his forehead against mine. His breath is minty against my mouth. “We are gonna get through this, Clara,” he whispers. “I can’t be apart from you.” He moves to press his cheek against mine. His words tickle my ear. “You have the power to save or destroy us, Clara. Make the right choice.”

  He kisses me, hard and hungry, and the door flies open. Glen’s guards wrench him away from me, and he bites my lip as our connection is severed. I taste blood. He breathes hard as they drag him from the room, but does not say another word. His eyes speak volumes, and I stare into them until the ugly metal door slams shut between us.

  Connor and Meredith come to stand in front of me. Meredith has remained quiet, and I think she is up to something. Meredith is never quiet. Connor crosses his arms, raising one hand to drag it down his face. His posture is stiff, and I can almost read his thoughts. He thinks this was a bad idea, that Glen has made it worse.

  “I think I might be ready to talk. Tomorrow,” I say. Connor’s hand drops from his face and his eyebrows jump to his hairline. I hear Meredith gasp, and I smile a secret smile that I have managed to surprise her.

  I stand. “I’d like to go back now,” I say. Connor nods and raps on the door. It is opened from the outside and we file out.

  It isn’t until later that Glen’s words sink in. I have the power to save or destroy? What does that mean? And even more important, how would it even be a choice?

  Then

  Glen is on a business trip and Mama Mae has come to visit. She comes more often since Papa G died. I don’t mind her visits, because I know she is lonely in the big house with only staff for company, but I do wish she would leave the girls alone. She has them lined up in front of their beds, and she walks back and forth, doing an impromptu inspection.

  Mama has a stern way about her, and she uses force where I use compassion. Mama trained me, but I learned that children respond more readily to a kind word than a sharp tongue. Of course, I will never tell her this. It would break her heart, and she has gone through so much already. She raps a yardstick along the wooden floors as she stalks up the row. The girls stand at attention, eyes trained on the opposite wall, while she looks for flaws.

  “There’s a wrinkle in this bed.” Rap. I hear the stick hitting the back side of a pair of legs. I wince and close my eyes, thinking of the special care I will have to give my girls later. Perhaps a picnic outside as a treat once Mama has left.

  “Your hair is not braided.” Rap.

  “Teddy bears are for children, not young women.” Rap.

  “Did you sleep in those clothes, dear?” Rap rap rap.
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  The bell rings downstairs, and I slip out, leaving Mama’s judgment behind. Glen told me that many of Papa’s girls were returned in the early years, and others were reported as runaways. I believe that girls treated roughly run away more often. My girls stay with their families because they are desperate to please them. They want to be loved, as I love them.

  Joel is at the back door. I hesitate. Men are not supposed to be in the house while Glen is away, but Joel is in charge in his absence. I open the door and step onto the back porch. Joel takes a small step back, but not far enough for my comfort.

  “Glen called,” Joel begins without preamble. “He’s run into some trouble and will be delayed.”

  My heart jumps. “Trouble?”

  “Nothing to worry about. Just has to lie low for a couple days.”

  I nod, my mind already with Glen. His run was to Iowa this time. It should have been a quick trip through the barren plains back home to the mountains. There are always risks, though. Kids who don’t understand what is going on. Others with similar businesses trying to take over Glen’s territory. I have met some of his associates and competitors. They’re not the nicest people. I shudder.

  Joel angles his head toward the house. I realize the window upstairs is open, and Mama’s sharp voice floats down to where we stand. “How are things going with the old bat?” he asks.

  I glare at him. “You won’t speak about her like that,” I say, more authority in my voice than I would dare to use with Glen. But then, Glen would never say anything like that about Mama.

  He shrugs. “You’re much better with the girls than she ever was.” A pause, then he grins. “You know what I remember?” he asks.