Blackwater

by Tara Brown

  I smile and offer a slight bow before I climb in. "Good afternoon, sir Ramón."

  He jumps in and starts the car. I tie on my kerchief and open the window. It's hot and sweaty with my back against the leather seats. The Lincoln doesn't have the stretch our other cars have. Ramón looks back at me. His skin is tanned from the hours he spends waiting around for my family, at our varying functions. His dark hair is matted to his leathered face.

  "You have a good day?"

  I nod, "I suppose. It's awfully hot though. There ain't a breeze in the whole state I don't think."

  "Tis true, but you can't be saying ain't like that. You know your momma would tear the skin right off your back with a word like that. She already cutting your calories so much, I'm getting worried at how skinny you getting."

  I smile at him, "Lordy, you're good for my self-confidence."

  He shakes his head and passes me back a package. My fingers tremble when I open it. The starvation makes me so hungry I can barely grip things sometimes. Inside the foil is a turkey sandwich with all the fixins. The first bite is heaven. I almost choke, taking such large bites. My stomach instantly starts to grumble and scream. The bites land in my belly and I feel instant relief.

  His dark eyes in the mirror watch me eating, "How long since she let you eat a real meal?"

  I shake my head, "Lemon water for the last three days." My words come out in mumbles and mouthfuls.

  His dark-red lips press tightly together, "I'm gonna poison her one day; y'all need to know that shit."

  I laugh and swallow the first half of the sandwich like a snake eating a whole mouse.

  "Ya still gotta eat like a lady, pigness." He hands me a thermos. I crack it and drink the sweet tea right from the thermos instead of using the lid.

  "Where did you get this?" I ask and take another scrumptious bite of the soft white bread, stuffing, cranberry sauce and turkey sandwich. I get a hint of Havarti cheese and moan into the bite.

  He laughs at me, nearly rubbing the sandwich all over my body.

  "Mrs. Mercer, down the road from my friend Joe. She owns a bakery and makes the best-damned sandwiches in the whole state. I buy them from her in secret. I pay double; she ain't allowed to sell me anything I don't eat there. Your momma is watching everyone else. She knows if even a cracker is missing."

  I finish the meal off and rub my hand over my belly that instantly has a food bump. "As soon as I marry, I'm gone. I don’t have to worry anymore. I'm going to get fat and eat everything I see."

  He laughs, "Oh no you ain't. You and me, we be running everyday still. You'll see, you'll be able to run further with constant food."

  I scowl and yawn, "I'm too tired to talk about running, baby."

  "You having troubles sleeping again?"

  I meet his eyes in the rearview mirror and nod.

  He shakes his head. "I will get my grandmamma to come and do the protection spell again. Keep them spirits out of your room. We gotta wait till your momma and daddy are gone though, Cher."

  "I love your grandmamma." I roll my eyes, "She needs to come and get the demons outta my momma." I smirk at him in the rearview, "I almost forgot. Speaking of devils, Angie said to say hi." I mock her high pitch voice and up my accent a notch.

  He makes a face, "You of all people should know she ain't exactly my type."

  "I know." I nod and stifle another yawn, "Lordy, I need some sleep. I need Grandmamma's remedy."

  I can't wait to see his grandmamma again. I need her to bless my room and bunny so badly. I am dying of exhaustion. The last time she did it was six years ago and I have had six years of bliss. Until recently.

  "Can we go to Grandmamma's now?" I'm almost in a food coma, I'm so tired and full.

  He nods in the mirror, looking worried. I ignore it and eventually he mellows out. He natters on about us doing a beach run in the Hamptons. There is a beach he wants to run at. I put my hand out the window and let the air wash over it. I wish we would happen upon a cool breeze.

  I hold my hand out the window; the air glides against it like warm water. I feel the weird sparks I always get when I hold my hands out in the air and snap my fingers and make them happen. I don’t even realize I'm doing it. I'm not supposed to. I close my eyes and let the sparks creep up my arms, they light me on fire. I love the feel of it.

  His voice breaks my concentration. "You been feeling anything weird, lately Cher?" he asks into the mirror. He looks funny, like he knows about the sparks. He doesn't though. I know that. I'm not allowed to do them, but when I was little I did them in front of daddy and he couldn’t see them. But when Ramón's grandmamma came to cleanse my room, she saw me do it. She told me that if my momma knew about the sparks she would beat me silly. I almost never do it because of the fear my momma will find out I can.

  I glance up at him and shake my head, fighting the blush on my cheeks. "Just sleepy from the icy whispers. Why?"

  He smiles and shakes his head, but I can see it's the one I don't like. It's the one that says he's hiding things from me. I swallow hard and wonder if he saw the sparks. The light from them is fast and bright. In the midday sun it would be impossible to make out - hopefully. I push it to the back of my mind.

  He starts nattering again and I distract myself with thoughts of Angie letting the help touch her. I glance at Ramón still speaking, and imagine his callused hands on my breasts. I instantly feel nauseous. He's no Marcello. He's more of a brother than anything. It's wrong to debase him that way. He deserves so much more than to be trifled with.

  I do however like to rile him up. "Marcello put his hands up Angie's shirt," I mutter.

  He raises his eyebrows up in disbelief.

  I shrug and snuggle into the seat better, "Apparently."

  He tilts his head with a chuckle, "Oooooeeeee. That Marcello is running a big risk. The Palatino family has connections that will get him a nice pair of cement boots. The word is they're related to the Chicago and New York crime families and they're running some imported goods in The Keys."

  I blush, thinking about Marcello with his hands inside of my blouse. It's easy to imagine. He is beautiful. He is the Italian Stallion. That’s what all the mothers call him.

  The air feels thicker when I imagine his hands moving to other places.

  I decided a while back that I don’t want to be pure on my wedding day. I don’t want to be with one man my whole life. I know I'll be forced to marry and honestly, it'll be such a relief being away from my momma. But I know how marriage works in the South. My marriage won't be no different than my parent's marriage, filled with secret trysts and hidden kisses. I kinda hope my husband will be like my daddy. I don't mind the idea of being married to a gentle cold man like him. It's better than being married to a cad.

  I don’t care what Angie says, I know Martin will be like my daddy, he already is so like him. No one would ever know my daddy has mistresses. Most people believe him to be madly in love with my momma. He doesn’t embarrass her, ever. Well, except for with his weird war paranoia but that’s a common one with Southern men.

  Momma is very good at not being caught with her lovers too, but we know she has them. We know our parents aren’t in love. They never have been I don’t think. But the marriage is perfect. From the outside looking in, everything is bliss. That's all I ask for in mine.

  If I am honest, I can't picture Martin as my only lover. I can't even try to imagine his hands inside of my blouse or lifting my skirt. I can't see his lips sliding up and down my throat, as he pulls me into his lap. Not the way I can imagine it with Marcello. Not the way it is in the dirty books Angie's granny has. Martin's manners have always been perfect and sweet. The epitome of charming.

  No, with Martin it'll be part of the act. The act of liking each other and loving each other. The act of enjoying his grunting on top of me, like my momma told me was expected of me. Martin is refined and proper and a true gentleman. It's why I can't imagine him with Margery Banks. Not when I constantly have to hide my hi
llbilly Baton Rouge ways from him.

  A bead of sweat trickles down my cheek, just as the car lurches and stops. I'm thrown forward.

  Ramón is cussing in Cajun French and slamming on the wheel.

  "It's overheated, Cher. I'll walk to the next house and call a tow and a ride."

  I look around at the forest and greenery. We're miles from the nearest house. He took the shortcut he always takes when we stop by his grandmamma's house in the bayou. It leads through a swampy area with no real population.

  "Ramón, it's too hot to walk out there. You'll have to wait for nightfall. Stay in the shade of the car. You'll burn to death out there. It must be over a hundred today. Someone will come."

  He smiles back at me. "I can't let you stay out in this. It's too hot for that. We'll both dehydrate if I don't go. Your greedy ass drank all the sweet tea."

  I laugh and nod but I'm worried. I don’t want to be alone on the side of the road and I don’t like him going alone into the woods.

  He takes his shirt off and leaves in his undershirt only. I grimace as the smell of his man-sweat fills the car. I lean my head out the window and wait. The side of the road is just thick woods. The old bent oaks and thick moss and bushes make it extra creepy. I watch him walk away from the car, getting smaller and smaller until he's gone. I can see the heat waves coming off the pavement.

  I pull my head back in. I'm exhausted and needing my nap. I close my eyes and visualize what I want, just like Grandmamma Holt taught me to. I imagine I'm in my room with the fans blowing the air down on me in my thin nightgown. I have fresh sweet tea or lemonade next to me. The glass has ice in it and beads of condensation dripping down the sides of the tall glass. The ice cracks in the heat and dilutes my drink. I take a refreshing sip. The ice clangs against the glass and burns against my lips, because it is so cold. I sigh and lie back to try to sleep. In my mind I am cool and bunny is around my throat protecting me.

  Chapter Two

  "Lorelei, wake up. Wake up. Danger."

  The voices stir me. I pull away from them shivering but then I hear someone else.

  "Miss, you alright?" It's a man.

  I sit up and sway. "Ramón?" My eyelids stick together.

  When I pry them open I can barely see through my fuzzy eyes and the fact it's now dark.

  I'm trembling and shaking. I rub my hands over my clothes and feel that I'm soaked, like I've been swimming.

  My eyes are blurry and nothing makes sense. I'm aching from sleeping on my side. I look around, confused.

  "Where am I?"

  My head feels thick and then it starts to pound. I wince and put a hand up to my drenched head.

  "Get her some water." I look around. A man is at the window of my car. I'm still in the car. I'm still on the side of the road.

  "Where's Ramón?" I ask a policeman I think I know.

  He hands me the lid of a warm metal thermos. I put it up to my lips and sip the cool sweet tea inside. My throat feels dry and crusty. The tea feels forced going down, like it's carving its path. He waits for me to finish and then takes the lid. I can feel the tea land in my belly. It's an empty feeling. I feel sick.

  "Where's Ramón? My friend…er…driver?" I ask again.

  Another policeman is at the window suddenly. He shakes his head and looks around. He is older and has a flashlight in his hands.

  "The man who found you is over there." He points and goes back to looking around the car. He speaks to someone I can't see.

  "My friend? I need my friend. Y'all have to go look for him." My heart starts racing realizing he ain't here.

  He speaks over me to the other man, "There's fluid over here. Looks like the car overheated. It was hotter than a billy goat's ass in a pepper patch today."

  "True dat!"

  They keep talking and I have no idea what's what.

  I open the door and stumble from the car, feeling sick. Walking doesn't help.

  Warm hands grip my sides and stop me from falling down into the ditch.

  "Thank you." I mutter, assuming it's another policeman. I turn my head, instantly realizing how wrong I am. His face makes me blush. He is a handsome gentleman, not a policeman. I can't imagine how I look. I'm drenched.

  He holds me to his chest. He is a dream. I'm sure of it. He is like nothing I have ever seen before. Dark, soulful eyes. Distinctive brow. Soft looking lips. Chiseled jaw with a slight cleft in the chin. Dark hair, that's styled but not like a businessman's, Thankfully it's also not fluffy and in his eyes like a boy's would be. The long hair of my generation is a crime.

  He smiles and I feel faint. He looks young, but something about his face tells me he is older than I am, maybe by a lot.

  He is confident and bold. The way he touches me, like he has a right to do so, makes me feel funny. No one touches me. Not with the intensity he is. No one would dare.

  "Are you alright?" He seems distracted, or maybe inconvenienced, as he looks around, no doubt for someone else to take care of me.

  I want to say yes. Instead, I rip from his arms and lose my stomach on the ditch behind me. He holds my hip pressed against him. His hands are on my waist as I retch and heave and my exhausted body convulses.

  "She has the heat sickness. We need to get her to the hospital," someone says.

  "Did anyone call an ambulance?" the man holding my hips against his body asks. Our pose would be indecent, if not for my vomit pelting the rocks below me with sweet tea.

  "Nope."

  His grip tightens, "Well that’s really helpful. My driver called and told you there was a girl unconscious in a car and you never thought to call an ambulance? I will take her myself." The man's voice grows angry. I throw-up once more and feel my legs starting to buckle. He lifts me off the ground.

  "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." I repeat, wiping my face.

  He seems incredibly angry as he holds me in his arms and carries me to a car. He places me in the backseat and speaks softly, "The hospital, Ben."

  My eyes flutter, "Sir, I'm terribly sorry."

  He holds me to him and puts the back of his hand on my forehead. He smiles at me and the anger seems to be gone, "You have a fever." He pulls me into him. I think for a second he has kissed the top of my head as he strokes it. I'm sure I'm mistaken. Strangers don’t kiss the tops of girl's heads, not ones that look like him. "You have no need to be sorry. You're sick. I will take care of you."

  I try to pull away from him but I have no strength. I lick my lips and swallow the things trying to escape my mouth when I speak, "My driver Ramón. Did you see him?"

  He shakes his head and continues to hold me to him, "We never saw him, just your car broken down on the side of the road. Where did he go?"

  I shake my head, "I don’t know. To get help. The car broke down. We was stuck." I don't correct my poor English. I'm too tired.

  "What time was that at?"

  I shrug and hold back a burp.

  He kisses my head again. I knew it, he kissed my head. My heart starts racing but I'm on the verge of passing out. I don’t have the energy I need to freak out.

  He murmurs softly into my hair, stroking it, "Just rest, my dear. We will have you right as rain in no time." Did he just call me dear? I must know him and not remember. He's too familiar.

  My stomach flutters. I don't fear him. Not the way I should. I'm uncomfortable with him kissing my head though. If I wasn’t struggling to keep the contents of my stomach where they should be, and completely feeble to boot, I would move away from him.

  "It'll be okay. We're almost there." He whispers and strokes my head some more. Something about his touch makes me relax.

  The driver stops the car and opens the door for the man. They help me out. A small amount of relief fills me when I see the doors of the hospital.

  The man lifts me up and carries me toward the light of the Emergency. In the bright lights, I'm stunned when I see his face. It's dreamy and sexy, in a way that makes the knots in my fragile stomach tighten. The muted light of
the streetlight did nothing for him. He was incredibly good looking there. Here in the fluorescent lights he is stunning. His dark eyebrows furrow over his dark eyes when he looks at me. The corner of one of lips lifts into a lazy grin that contradicts his eyes. I attempt to grin back but suddenly I see him in flashes. My eyes are fluttering again. I can’t get them to open completely. When I gain control of them again, I see a nurse running to us.

  "Lorelei? Honey, is that you? Is that Lorelei Huntington?"

  I can barely lift my head to see Mrs. Kirsch. She puts a hand to my head, "Honey, you have a fever."

  "She has heat sickness. We found her on the side of the road in a car passed out. Her driver left her there." His voice swims in my head. I want to defend Ramón. He would never have just left me there. Where is he?

  I look back but the lights blend together making one long sheet of brightness I can't stand. I feel my stomach turn again when I attempt to sit up to see their faces.

  "Baby, it was over a hundred out there today, my hair was sweatin. Who are you?" Mrs. Kirsch looks angry.

  "Mr. Whitlock, at your service." The way he says Whitlock sounds foreign. In fact all his words sound foreign. I thought he was a Yankee at first.

  The ceiling tiles and bright lights flash. My eyes are fluttering again.

  "Are you a friend of the Huntington's?" Her nasally voice sounds feisty.

  "No. No, I found her on the side of the road."

  I lose the conversation in the flashing and the fluttering. I know I'm moving. In the flashes I can see the tiles changing. The motion is making me sick again. I turn my face and get sick down the side of my cheeks. I can see it dripping onto his arm. If I wasn’t nearly unconscious, I would be mortified. I know I will be tomorrow. If there is a tomorrow, please God, don't let there be a tomorrow.

  I let the darkness that has threatened to come and fill my eyes, takeover. It's been wanting to since I woke. I've never been as exhausted as I am. Not even when the icy whispers stop me from sleeping.

  I feel my eyes roll into the back of my head and I'm out like a light within seconds of stopping fighting it.

  When I wake I can smell my momma. I would know her scent anywhere. It's custom made by Dior.