Innocent Little Crimes

by C. S. Lakin

  Shut up! she screamed inside her head. Standing at the window, her back to her ranting father, she made a fist. As her father raved in midsentence, she pummeled that fist through the glass, shattering the air with a loud crack and sending shards flying. Her father fell silent as he watched the rivulets of blood pour down Lila’s arm.

  That evening he put her in a straight jacket and fastened her to the bed. Her mother wouldn’t even come into the room. George Carmichael left the gaping hole in the window uncovered, and the rain and wind blew in, soaking Lila’s curtains and floor. He turned off the heat in the house and left her in bed in the cold. He would force the devil out of her. Each night, in the dark, he sat at the foot of her bed and mumbled fervent prayers, working himself into a sweat. By then, Lila was so weak and malnourished that she lay without expression, staring into the blackness.

  How long this went on, she had no idea. Only, one day she found her bindings loosened and the house empty. Dying was taking forever and this religious torment was a punishment in hell. Slowly she sat up, the first time in days. Kicking the bed pan off the night stand, she wobbled over to the broken window and looked out. Every muscle in her body ached from confinement. The glare from the bright sunlight hurt her eyes and the smell of cut grass filled her nostrils. Somehow, summer had arrived.

  After removing the loosened straight jacket, she leaned her weight against the window sash and pushed. The window lifted easily. She found some old clothes in one of her dresser drawers and, in slow motion, put them on. They hung from her limbs.

  As she hobbled down the street, the world tilted around her. She knew if she just kept walking, she’d get somewhere. Hours later, the smell of pizza assaulted her nose. How long had it been since she tasted food? Suddenly, there she was, in front of Jo Mama’s. She hesitated a moment. What if she ran into someone she knew? But it was summer. Most students were home for the break. All her “friends” had graduated or left for the summer and had surely long forgotten the pathetic Lila Carmichael.

  She smoothed out her hair and walked into the restaurant. The wafting aroma of pizza made her mouth water. She realized she had no money, but needed to eat. She walked up to the manager, whose back was turned.

  “Hi Sam.”

  He looked at her, startled. “Where the hell have you been?”

  “Oh, here and there,” she said. Just the effort of talking made her winded.

  “Don’t think you can just walk in here after you left me high and dry.”

  She felt herself wilting before him. “I was . . . sick. Sorry.”

  He softened as he took in her appearance. “Hey, I’m sorry. Nothing serious?”

  “No, just cancer.” Lila didn’t know where the words came from. They just popped out. Sam looked abashed.

  Lila shrugged. “Hey, but I’ll live. So they tell me. I just stopped by to get my back pay and maybe a bite to eat. I sure do love the food around here.”

  The manager went to the register and took out some bills. He handed them to her, his face averted. “And help yourself, okay? I’m needed in the back.” He hurried away into the kitchen.

  Lila managed to keep down a half slice. Her stomach had shrunk from weeks of starvation, but she drank glass after glass of water. Sitting at a back table, she tried to decide what to do next. Bitterness coursed through her veins, giving her new motivation to live. The semester was long over and who knew where all the Thespians had gone.

  Lila pictured each of them in her mind. Della gone off with Davis, back to his easy life in Marin, living in high society. Dick and Millie married and starting a miserable life together. Jonathan off to Hollywood to make his fortune. She felt nothing but anger, an anger that festered each minute.

  That night, Lila found an unlocked car in an apartment parking lot and curled up in the backseat and slept. She realized she’d have to buy some clothes and find a place to stay. She also needed a job. Beyond that, planning was impossible. What was she skilled to do? Nothing. The only experience she had was waitressing and washing dishes. She had to distance herself from Olympia. Sam was kind enough to give her a written recommendation to help her get a new start. She could go anywhere; restaurants always needed waitresses.

  In the morning, she stuck out her thumb at the interstate and headed south. After a few hours and several rides later, she ended up in downtown Portland. Fortunately, the last driver had compassion on her and palmed her a twenty.

  She went from business to business asking for work and finally lucked out. A family diner, Sonny’s, needed a day waitress, and she started the next morning. After a week in the youth hostel, she earned enough to rent a room in a dilapidated house on the south end of town. Three other women lived there but she rarely saw them. She kept to herself. As much as she yearned for someone to confide in, she had learned the lesson well: trust no one.

  At night, she familiarized herself with all the bars and comedy dives across town. She needed something to laugh at, and soon blended in with the clientele that frequented those places. They were like her–losers—and she found comfort in shared misery. By keen observation, Lila imitated the bar crowd. At the restaurant she wore her hair up, applied some makeup, and kept her uniform ironed. But at night she dressed like the regulars at the bar, wore loose clothes, and mussed up her hair. She learned the names of drinks: kamikazes and merry widows and gin slings. She made up a different past each time someone sat beside her. She was an air stewardess, a dog trainer, a stunt woman. She came from Mississippi, Ohio, Canada. It amazed her how, with a few drinks, she could fall into another role, become someone else. These strangers never questioned her stories.

  Over the months, she grew to have a reputation in the bar circuit around town. Lila became known for her biting sarcasm and outrageous monologues, and when she entered a bar or club, people cleared a stool for her and gathered within earshot. In the absence of friendship, she found power in the way she controlled her small but faithful audiences. She received attention and accolades, but kept all at arm’s length. Never would she allow anyone to get close enough to hurt her—ever again.

  Lila ate what she could off the plates at Sonny’s, and in the bars devoured baskets of peanuts and pretzels. She bought groceries on whim, buckets of ice cream, and Sara Lee chocolate cakes. Over three months, she gained forty pounds. But even that gave her more power. People took notice and no one ever messed with her or tried to pick her up.

  One club she frequented—The Hot Spot—featured a small stage for a weekend jazz trio. But Wednesday night was open mike for anyone who wanted to sing or do a comic skit. Sometimes someone with real talent graced the stage in the smoky, dingy room, but usually the entertainment was just plain bad. Lila never cared. She sat at the bar, sprawled over two stools, and chatted with the bartender, cracking jokes and telling stories. Every Wednesday, Lila drank until she passed out, and Len, the owner, would find her a ride home to her shabby little room.

  One evening, Lila sat with Len at a table by the stage. The club was busy for a Wednesday night and most of the regulars were there. The tape deck blasted from the bar but no one took the mike. Len crouched over Lila, his big cigar dangling from his mouth.

  “Why are you wasting your life away, drinking like this? You’re young. You’re talented. Go back to school.”

  Lila laughed. “Yeah, school’s what got me into all this trouble in the first place. Give me another idea.”

  Len thought for a moment. “Wanna be a bouncer?” He chuckled, then coughed.

  “Thanks a lot. I knew I was destined for great things. When are you gonna quit the cigars?”

  “When you quit drinking.”

  Lila snorted and downed the rest of her drink—her third vodka.

  “How ’bout comedy? You’re a natural, you know. I’ve watched you rip people to shreds with your sharp tongue.”

  Lila shrugged. “I’m not funny, I’m bitter. There’s a difference.”

  “I don’t see it.”

  “You wouldn’t.”


  “So, let’s hear it.” Len pointed to the empty stage. The mike stand stood under a single spotlight. “I dare you.” His eyes shined as he smiled, and ashes dropped from his cigar onto the table. “I’ll bet you fifty bucks you’re too chicken.”

  Lila scrutinized Len’s face. Fifty bucks could come in real handy. “Better unlock the till. Five minutes—fifty bucks. A deal?” She held out her hand. Len laughed and shook it.

  “Better think fast, Li.”

  Len pushed his chair back and walked onto the stage. He waved a finger at the bartender, who turned off the stereo. He tapped the mike.

  “Uh, friends. We’ve got a local talent for you here tonight. Known around Portland for her wit and sarcasm. Played in clubs all over the country.” Len shot Lila a sly glance. “Please welcome Lila Carmichael.”

  A few hands clapped as Lila ambled to the stage in a daze. She was drunk, but the alcohol relaxed her, gave her confidence. She stood under the one bright bulb and glared into the dark room. Most of the bar’s patrons were talking and drinking; few paid her any attention. But Lila didn’t care, she could rattle some story for five minutes. She was in her element.

  The last time she stood on stage was in another lifetime. She remembered Davis’s arms around her, so-called friends looking on with feigned admiration and respect. Her heart flooding with love and happiness. As she scanned the faces of the losers of the town, she saw the real world: hard, dirty, disappointing.

  She cleared her throat and spoke in a commanding voice.

  “My boyfriend dumped me the other day.” She looked around the room. “Don’t look so surprised—just because I’m fat and frowzy . . .” She fluffed up her frizzy hair and did a bump and grind. “. . . doesn’t mean I can’t attract a man. Well, I was thin and gorgeous when we met, but you know how it is. Relationships really take their toll. And this one was heavy, like a Mac truck. You can still see the tread marks on my back. Anyway, it’s his fault I look like this. Some guys drive you to drink. He sent me running to the ’frigerator. He said he was bored, can you believe it?” Lila fluffed her hair again. “I couldn’t compete with the peroxided chicks on TV, you know—the ones with the nose and boob jobs. Well, I’ve got plenty of both, but maybe I should have worked a little harder on my hair. Never mind about the cute sexy thing at the office. He denies she had anything to do with his decision to dump me.”

  Lila noticed as she spoke, the room grew quieter. People were listening. She detached the mike from the stand and started pacing the narrow stage. Hey, this was almost fun.

  “At first I thought, okay, that’s life, who needs him anyway, but it really ate at me, so I ate back, you know what I mean? My shrink says I should work out my anger. Run or exercise or something.” She grimaced. “Run? Exercise? Me? Was he crazy? Those words weren’t in my vocabulary. Big Macs I know. Cherry cheesecake. Ben and Jerry’s chocolate fudge. Those, I know. So I steam-shoveled those calories in and the anger went out. Garbage In, Garbage Out. And then I thought . . . why am I suffering when it should be him? I decided to take the better path to stress-reduction—revenge.

  “Now for any of you who’ve tried it, you’ll swear by it, am I right?” Some heads nodded. “You know the delightful satisfaction that comes from revenge. Revenge is great—you can get back at your parents for all the nit-picky things they made you do as a kid. I visited my folks last week and the first thing I did was turn on all the lights in the house. Then I raided the fridge and left the door open. I even used the potty and forgot to flush. It felt great. Already my stress level was cut in half.” Lila paused and took a long breath. She scanned faces in the crowd and saw smiles. Words tumbled through her head.

  “But the best satisfaction was what I did to my ex-boyfriend. I still had the key to his place, you see. So when he was at work, I made my move. First I went through the medicine cabinet. A little sulfuric acid in the aftershave cologne, a little glue in the styling mousse, a little hot chill oil in the toothpaste.” Laughter erupted in the audience. “That took a little doing. You gotta mix it in with a toothpick. Then I had a field day with the refrigerator. I took out the mustard and mayonnaise, the ketchup and relish, and added all kinds of interesting additives. Sweet and Low is a good one; it dissolves easily. I put three packets in the salsa. Now, in the fridge was this side of beef, marinating in some winey-smelling stuff. I think I invented a masterpiece: one part rubbing alcohol, one part nail polish remover, and two parts brown shoe polish. Funny, when I called him at work the next day, he was out sick. Imagine that.”

  Lila wobbled around the stage. Now she saw riveted expressions. “I felt I should do something. So I sent a telegram to his office, where his bimbo secretary goes through the mail, telling him how sorry I was I missed our hot date the other day. I reminded him about our hot and heavy sex and how this was the first week we’d missed in months. I promised some vile, lewd rewards for him as compensation, then signed the telegram, Teresa. Then I bought the most disgusting S & M rag I could find. Had some woman chained naked to a doghouse on the cover with the dog doing unmentionable things behind her.” The audience groaned collectively. “I slipped it in a brown wrapper and had it delivered by inter-office mail. The note on the cover said, thanks Bob, for letting me borrow this. Like you said, it was the best issue of the year. Your pal, Dick.” More laughter reverberated around the smoky room. Lila looked at her watch. Two minutes to go.

  “I really wanted to kill the jerk. There should be a special hell for people who dump you for someone prettier, don’t you think? Maybe all us homely ones get to date the gorgeous angels once we croak. And the jerks in hell get the dogs. Teach ’em a lesson. You know, this guy Bob is one helluva fox. Kind of like Robert Redford but without the acne scars. He could make a girl have cardiac arrest just by smiling. The bigger the smile, the more dangerous. He oughta have a license to use it. You heard the expression, ‘if looks could kill.’ Well, they do. He used that smile on me and I ended up in the hospital. No kidding. I got this great idea for torturing him. I’m gonna tie him up in front of a mirror and make him smile. For twenty-four hours. With a gun at his head. See how he likes it. And I’m gonna make his bimbo girlfriend sit next to him and stare at the mirror too. I figure she’ll be dead in two hours. If not, she’ll be so sick of that smile, she’ll never want to see it again.”

  Lila smiled sweetly. “I spend hours thinking up these twisted plots, don’t you? When someone screws you, doesn’t it just eat at you, night and day? You heard the expression, ‘living well is the best revenge’? Well, I say to hell with that. Revenge is the best revenge. Period.” Lila took a slight bow. “Thanks and don’t forget to stick it to them that sticks it to you. Goodnight.”

  Lila trotted off the stage and back to the table where Len sat, chuckling. The crowd cheered and clapped wildly.

  Len pulled out a chair for Lila and poured her a beer. She plopped down and held out her hand. “Dig deep, Len. Five minutes, fifty bucks.

  “Well, it dragged in the middle and could’ve been funnier, but I know you didn’t have much time to prepare. But I knew you had it in you, girl.” He handed Lila a fifty dollar bill. “And I’ll do you better. How ’bout a regular gig? Every Wednesday night. You can work up some routines and pack the place. With a little prep, you’d knock ’em dead. Be good for my business.”

  “I can use the bread.” She stared him down. “And you are going to pay me . . .”

  He laughed again, dropping cigar ashes on the table. “You bet, sugar.”

  After a few weeks, Lila grew more and more comfortable on the stage. Her monologues became more lewd, more daring. And the more they laughed, the more vulgar her speech. The more outrageous she became, the more they loved her. The Hot Spot packed to overflowing on Wednesday nights. Word got around and, soon, talent scouts approached Lila with an offer to go on the west coast comedy circuit. The following year she made her first appearance on TV, and five years later, anyone who watched the Comedy Shop recognized her instantly. S
he was a regular and a loner. The other comics hung out backstage, waiting for their introduction. But Lila would disappear in the back of the club or in the audience and watch the other acts. She studied the way each comedian moved and spoke and observed the audience to see what they laughed at and what they didn’t. Her scrutiny paid off. She kept up the drinking, but scaled back. She found being on the stage induced a different sort of intoxication, and after a few hundred times, the nervousness turned into keen anticipation.

  Ten years after stepping foot on the small stage at the Hot Spot, Lila signed a contract for a series on cable television. By then, she had long left Portland for Los Angeles and developed her eccentric wardrobe. And throughout those years, the thing that drove her, that made her waking hours bearable and catapulted her to become the most successful, sardonic comedienne in America, was the memory of her year at college.

  She made it her mission to follow five people’s lives closely, like watching bugs under a microscope. She would pay them back, her old college buddies.

  Every last one of them. No matter how long it took.

  The richer she got, the easier it was to wreck their lives. Her obsession was her ‘raison d’etre,’ and without it, she would have simply withered away.

  Chapter 28

  Peter set his empty glass down on the night table beside Lila as the first hint of dawn crept into the sky. The oil lamp flickered from the moaning wind seeping through the cracks in the turret walls. Lila sighed and collapsed back against the bolsters of her bed. The bottle of brandy, polished off, lay in her lap. Her head flopped to one side.

  Peter, drunk himself, felt inclined to curl up under her down comforter and snooze. Exhaustion filled every muscle in his body like a thick fluid. He listened to Lila’s breathing as it deepened into a slight snore. As he stared out across the Sound, the dim light etched the edges of the blanket of storm clouds gathered at the horizon.