by Terri Reid
“But, I only…” Beth stammered.
“I don’t want to hear it,” Paul interrupted. “You can cook our dinner and then I want you to spend the rest of your time in the bedroom. We don’t need to see your sniveling little face while we enjoy our evening.”
Beth shook her head. “No, you can’t mean it.”
Paul raised his arm and Beth crouched defensively. Laughing at her, he lowered his arm to his side. “Yeah, I mean it,” he said. “Now get away from us.”
Beth hurried to the kitchen, but not before she glanced back to see her daughter enter the house with a smile on her face. It must have gone well, Beth decided with a frisson of relief coursing through her body. Maybe she had been wrong all along. Maybe Angie could handle being with the other children.
Dejected and questioning her own decisions, she quickly prepared a casserole and slipped it into the oven. Then she washed the dishes and set the table.
“You done in here?” Paul called as he entered the kitchen.
“I’m just setting the table,” she explained softly.
“Why the hell are there three plates?” he asked, stepping forward and picking up a dinner plate.
“Because…because…I thought…” she began.
Paul threw the plate against the kitchen wall, causing it to explode into shards of floral printed glass. “I told you we didn’t want you around us,” he screamed. “What does it take for you to understand, woman? You ain’t wanted!”
Sobbing, Beth started to run from the room, but Paul grabbed her by the back of her sweater and swung her around. “Oh, no, you got a mess to clean up,” he yelled, tossing her in the direction of the broken glass. “And only after you clean that up, you can go.”
He stormed out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind him on the way out. Beth hobbled over to the corner of the room and picked up the broom, her body aching from the abuse it had suffered from Paul’s hands that day. She turned and a soft hand was laid over hers.
“I’ll clean it up, Mama,” Angie said, taking the broom from her mother. “You go and sit on the chair.”
“No,” Beth whispered urgently, pulling back the broom. “If your father finds out…”
“Mama, does Papa hit you because of me?” Angie asked.
“What? No, of course not,” Beth replied instantly. “Your father has a lot of stress in his job and he just needs to vent sometimes.”
Angie cocked her head slightly and studied her mother for a few moments. Then she shook her head. “He shouldn’t hit you,” she said simply and then walked out of the room.
Chapter Seven
The house was quiet and Paul was enjoying a comfortable evening watching the television. A bottle of beer hanging casually from one hand, he used the other hand to aim the remote and switch channels from one sporting event to the next to gather scores and highlights. He yawned widely and then burped loudly. He had to admit, Beth was a damn good cook, even if she couldn’t manage anything else. He looked through the open kitchen door at the mess still on the table. Maybe he’d let her come out so she could eat a little supper and clean things up. He hated when the house was messy.
He climbed out of his chair and started to walk towards his bedroom when he heard a noise from Angie’s room. Glancing at the clock, he saw it was nearly midnight. Far past the time Angie should have been in bed. Changing direction, he walked down the opposite hall to the girl’s room and knocked on the door. “Angie, you okay in there?” he asked. “Time to go to bed. Time to turn off your music.”
“Papa,” Angie called back through the door. “Papa, I need you.”
Paul heard the theme song from the sports channel announcing the game was starting and he huffed impatiently. “Listen, little girl, I don’t have time for this right now,” he said. “The game’s starting.”
“But Papa, I need you,” she called back.
He grabbed hold of the door and pushed it open. “What the hell do you want?” he yelled.
She stood next to the window, her ear plugs on, slowly moving to the silent notes. Moonlight filtered in and washed her body with light, causing her thin cotton nightgown to become nearly transparent. Paul felt a sexual pull immediately.
“You need to put a robe on,” Paul growled, upset that seeing his daughter like that would cause such an instant physical reaction. “Shouldn’t be standing in front of a window like that. What are the neighbors going to think?”
She slowly turned away from the window and walked over to him, studying him silently.
“I don’t know how many times I’ve told you little girl,” he exclaimed. “It ain’t right to stare at people like you do. It gives ’em the willies.”
Still silent she stopped in front of him and raised her arms. “Papa, will you dance with me?”
“What the hell?” he asked, but found himself moving towards her.
“I’ll let you listen to my music,” she said, slipping an ear pod from her ear.
“Angie! No!” her mother cried from the doorway. “You do not dance with your father.”
Shaking his head, Paul immediately stepped back. “What the hell?” he yelled and then, feeling guilty for being caught in a potentially compromising situation, turned his emotions on Beth. “What are you doing out of your room? Who the hell do you think you are?”
But this time, Beth wasn’t cowed by his anger. She stood in the doorway calmly and met his eyes. “Paul, we need to talk,” she said and then turned around and walked down the hall.
Paul turned to his daughter. “Get some clothes on,” he yelled. “And then go to bed!”
He stormed after Beth, caught her by the arm next to their bedroom and spun her around. “You don’t ever order me around,” he yelled.
“This time I do,” she said. “This time you have to listen to me or you will die.”
She said it with such complete calm that it chilled his body to the bone. “What are you talking about?” he asked, his voice shaky and unsure.
Beth walked over to her dresser, opened the top drawer and pulled out a small ledger. “She’s been doing it since she was three,” she said, opening the book to the first page.
“Doing what?” Paul asked.
Beth ignored him. “The first time was with the little kitten you bought her for her birthday,” she continued.
“The one you let get away,” he replied, his voice a little stronger.
She looked up and met his eyes. “No, I didn’t let it get away,” she said. “Angie…” She paused, searching for the words and finally she just shrugged. “Angie danced with it.”
“What?” Paul asked, clearly unconvinced.
“She danced with it and it disappeared,” she said. “I didn’t know what to think at first, but then, after a few times, I realized that somehow she transports people or absorbs people or, well, I don’t know the science of it. I just know that if someone dances with Angie, they ain’t around anymore.”
Paul stared at her and shook his head.
“You’ve got to believe me, Paul,” she insisted, shaking the ledger book at him. “I’ve got them all recorded, all of them that I know of, from the kitten to Dr. Feinstein.”
“Dr. Feinstein, you blaming her for that?” he asked, disgust on his face. “What? Are you jealous of your own daughter? Are you jealous because she is more beautiful that you could ever hope to be? Are you jealous that I think she’s attractive?”
“Paul, she’s your daughter,” Beth replied, shocked at his confession. “What are you thinking?”
He grabbed the ledger from her and threw it across the room. “I’m thinking it’s not my daughter who’s the looney, it’s my wife,” he yelled. “And it’s about time I got to know her a little better.”
“Paul, no!” Beth screamed.
“Shut up, bitch,” he yelled, slapping her across the face with enough force to knock her backwards onto the bed. “I’m going to go and dance with my daughter.”
Chapter Eight
Sh
eltered behind the corner of the high school, Bobby-Joe Meyers watched Angie climb out of the old Pontiac her mother drove, gather her books and begin the walk across the campus toward the school building. She’d been going to class with the rest of the students for several weeks and he’d been watching her, waiting for his chance to make a move. Yeah, she’s a crazy bitch, he thought, but she’s also one fine piece of ass. Maybe crazy Angie and I need to have a little party time.
Pushing himself from the wall, he casually strolled toward the same door she was heading towards and managed to meet her just before she walked in. “Hey Angie,” he said. “Let me get the door for you.”
She stopped and stared at him for a few moments, making him feel uneasy. Then she smiled and nodded. “Thank you,” she finally said, moving past him into the school. He easily caught up with her and fell in line as they moved down the hallway.
“So, what are you listening to?” he asked.
“Music,” she replied innocently.
“Yeah, well, damn, I know it’s music,” he said. “But what kind of music.”
She shrugged. “My music,” she said.
This girl is thicker than a brick, he thought and then he glanced down at her. Her shirt was cut just low enough to display a glimpse of her cleavage. Damn, I need me some of that.
“So, it’s your music,” he said nodding. “Yeah, I get that. You know, you and me, we got lots in common.”
She glanced over at him, confusion written on her face.
“I mean, we should get to know each other,” he inserted. “You know, I heard your daddy ran out on you and your momma and there ain’t no man around the house to protect and, you know, do stuff.”
“My daddy went away,” she said with a smile.
“Yeah. Yeah, I know,” he replied. “So, I’m thinking that I should maybe come on over to your place. You know, when your momma ain’t home and I can show you some stuff.”
“Show me?” she asked.
He smiled down at her and nodded. “Yeah, show you some stuff that will make you feel good,” he said. “Real good.”
She stopped abruptly in the middle of the hall and stared at him for another few moments. “Do you want to dance with me?” she asked.
His nodded his head and slowly licked his lips. “Oh, yeah, baby, that’s right,” he said with a grin. “I want to dance with you. I want us to do the horizontal cha-cha.”
Confused again, she shook her head. “Do you want to dance with me?” she asked.
“Yeah, I do,” he said. “Real bad. When can I come see you?”
She smiled at him. “My momma’s gotta work,” she replied. “Wanna come tonight?”
“Oh, baby, I wanna come tonight for sure,” he mocked. “How about I’ll be at your place at six?”
She nodded. “Momma leaves at five,” she said.
“I’ll be there at six,” he said. “And we are going to have a good time.”
He nodded with satisfaction and then turned away from her. “I’m gonna get me some tonight,” he yelled out loud to the delight of his friends gathered around their lockers.
Angie just turned and continued down the hall to her first class.
Chapter Nine
Sweat, steam and laughter filled the boy’s locker room as the football team finished their practice and were changing back into street clothes. The conversations ran from diagramming a new play, the weaknesses of the team they were going to play on Friday and the cup sizes of the cheerleading squad.
Jared Hood pulled off his helmet and laid it next to him on the wooden bench between the two rows of lockers. He bent to unlace his shoes when another classmate sat down next to him. “Hey, if coach asks, you didn’t see Bobby-Joe today at school, okay?” he whispered.
Jared shrugged. “Sure, no big deal,” he replied. “Why didn’t he make practice?”
The boy snickered. “He’s going to be doing Crazy Angie.”
“What?” Jared asked, lifting his head up and looking at the boy’s face. “What did you say?”
“Angie’s mom works tonight, so Bobby-Joe talked her into letting him come over,” he replied with a snicker. “She thinks he’s coming over to dance with her. She’s a little weird about that. But Bobby-Joe’s says he’s gonna show her how to have a good time.”
“I didn’t get the feeling she was into that kind of thing,” he replied, picturing the shy girl who barely spoke during class.
His teammate shrugged. “That won’t matter to Bobby-Joe,” he said. “He’s got ways to make a girl give him what he wants, even when they’re saying no.”
“When were they supposed to meet?” Jared asked.
“I don’t know, like six I think,” the boy replied.
Jared glanced up at the clock, it was a quarter to six. “Why didn’t he come to practice?” he asked, pulling his cleats off and throwing them in his locker.
“He could’ve come, I guess,” the boy said. “But he said he didn’t want to inhibit his performance.”
Jared ripped his jersey over his head and threw it on top of his shoes. Then he quickly removed the rest of his gear, tossing it haphazardly into the locker.
“Hey,” the boy said, watching him. “Coach ain’t going to be really happy with how you treating the equipment.”
Jared pulled his jeans on and slipped his feet into his shoes. “Well,” Jared said, pulling his sweatshirt over his head and kicking his locker closed with his foot. “I guess I’ll just deal with that later.”
He ran out of the locker room into the empty hallway and ran down the hall to the door. His car was at the end of the parking lot. But even if he hit all the lights, he knew he couldn’t be at Angie’s place until after six. He hoped Bobby-Joe planned on a at least a little romancing before the main event.
Pulling the car out of the parking space, Jared threw it into drive and sped across the parking lot. He turned right onto the street and headed towards the outskirts of town. The lights were working against him and his anxiety increased as he had to wait for each red to turn to green. For a moment he considered calling the police, but Bobby-Joe’s family was positioned high in the political echelons of the community and he didn’t think the police would even respond.
The light turned green and Jared floored the accelerator pedal, increasing his speed from the tepid thirty-five miles per hour allowed in town to the fifty-five plus permitted for country roads. He took the next turn at sixty-five and increased his speed another five miles after that. He could finally see Angie’s house in the distance and his heart sank when he saw Bobby-Joe’s red pickup truck parked in the drive.
“Hold on, Angie,” he said, bringing the speedometer to its limit. “I’m coming.”
He swerved into her driveway and threw the car into park before leaping up and running to her front door. With a closed fist, he pounded against the wood. “Angie!” he yelled. “Angie! Open the door.”
A moment later the door opened and Angie stood in the doorway, studying him.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “Did Bobby-Joe hurt you?”
She smiled at him and shrugged. “Bobby-Joe went away.”
He released an audible sigh of relief and leaned against the doorframe. “So, you’re okay?” he asked again, needing to be reassured.
She nodded. “Yes, I’m fine.”
He smiled at her, still catching his breath. “That’s good,” he said. “That’s great.”
She just stood in the doorway serenely watching him.
“Listen,” he finally said. “I guess I didn’t realize how important it was to you, but, you know, if you really want to dance. I’d be happy to dance with you.”
She cocked her head to the side and studied him quietly. Then she stepped back, silently inviting him into her home. He walked in and looked around. “Hey, this is a nice place,” he said.
She nodded.
“So, do you want to dance with me?” he asked.
She smiled up at him. “No, you suck at dancing,�
� she replied. “Let’s watch a movie instead.”
Maggie Mae
by
Sharon Love Cook
As a child, Benjamin Putnam had been curious about the Weidermans. They lived in a sprawling stucco house on Bridal Path Lane. Ben’s house, across the street, sat in a row of split-level and Cape-style homes. Each had a small lawn with neat shrubs and hedges.
The Weidermans’ house, on the other hand, sat atop a high rise. The surrounding land, a tangle of bushes, trees and vines, had once been a thriving apple orchard. In the fall, old Mr. Weiderman invited the neighbors to help themselves to the fruit.
Ben remembered accompanying his mother into the orchard. He was fascinated with the gnarled old trees and the intoxicating scent of rotting apples. Carrying their buckets home, Ben’s mother warned him not to visit the Weiderman property alone.
“Why not?” he asked.
“Just do as I say. “ Immediately regretting her sharp tone, she added, “I heard there’s a bobcat hanging around the orchard. It’s not safe.”
Instead of frightening Ben, it stirred his curiosity. He’d never seen a bobcat. One afternoon he crept across the street. He went up the long driveway, concealed behind a row of evergreens. Inside the orchard, he heard voices and peered through the branches of an apple tree. It was the three Weiderman sisters: Tessa, Nora, and the youngest, Margaret Mae. The girls were rarely seen in town; they attended a boarding school. Nonetheless, they accompanied their father to St. Rupert’s Christmas Eve service. The family looked like visitors from another era in their dark capes and buckled boots.
Now peering through the hedge, Ben studied them. The two older sisters sat under an apple tree reading aloud from a book while Margaret Mae was a whirl of activity. Ben watched her swing from branch to branch like a lemur. When she moved deeper into the orchard, he followed. She hung from limbs, spinning from tree to tree. Her skirt rose high on her pale thighs. She didn’t bother to pull it down. Ben watched, enrapt.
It was getting dark when Ben finally stole away from the orchard. A neighbor spotted him scurrying down the Weidermans’ driveway and reported this to Mrs. Putnam.