Having seen all the other films for the Best Actress category—Chapter Two, The China Syndrome, Starting Over and, of course, The Rose—they hadn’t had the chance to see Sally Field in Norma Rae.
Carolyn stopped at her locker. “I read in the Salem Evening News that, because of the Academy Awards next week, they’re having a reprise of Norma Rae at the Russell Street Plaza in West Peabody.” She spun her lock. “Starts tonight.”
“Cool. I should be able to get my aunt to give us a ride.” Michael leaned his permed head against Meredith Barney’s locker next to Carolyn’s.
“Great.” Carolyn returned her biology book and retrieved her English one. “I have Home Ec last period.”
“I know. I know your schedule better than you.”
She smiled, closed her locker, and they lumbered through hordes of students rumbling to class. “Well, don’t forget that Father Twomey is picking us up after school to take us to rehearsal.” The select few from the junior high who got to participate, across town, with the high school’s drama club.
“Then it’s a date,” Michael said. “Well, you know what I mean.”
Dating rumors of the two had spread, but Carolyn didn’t care what others thought of their relationship. She stopped at the turn to C-house. “Meet me by the wood shop after the last bell. When rehearsal is over, maybe we can get a bite to eat at Muntsy’s Subs before the movie.” She raised an eyebrow. They both loved the establishment’s steak bomb sandwiches.
“Um, good idea. And from there, we can walk to the movies. My last class is Shop with Mr. Keith.”
“I know, dummy.” Carolyn moved away, in the direction for her class. “I know your schedule better than you.”
“Right.”
After the last bell, Carolyn and Michael met up with Father Twomey, the high school music director, in the parking lot. Michael jumped into the back of his Beetle. Carolyn sat up front. And they drove the twenty-minute ride to West Peabody.
At a convenience store near the high school, Father Twomey stopped for cigarettes. Never passing a chance for candy at Lowe Mart, the two convinced the man to buy them Kit Kats and Tabs. They devoured chocolate on the short trip up the hill to the school.
Friday afternoons at the high school saw little activity.
Maple trees budded, and the few magnolias on the school’s property hinted a pink display. The yellow VW edged a curb out front, and they all went in.
At three, rehearsal for the upcoming spring gala began. Per usual, Michael climbed up the rafters, and Carolyn went to the booth to set lights for their production. In addition to performing, most of the club’s members had multiple roles.
After an hour of students singing songs that tore up discotheques years ago—the North Shore having lagged behind California and New York, as Carolyn and Michael had opined in a recent article—Father Twomey called a break, reached for the pack of Winston’s in his shirt pocket, and went outside.
Michael and Carolyn took to the lobby to sum up plans for a ride to Norma Rae—using the only payphone available.
“No answer.” He returned the receiver. “She’s probably at my aunt Judy’s…getting drunk.” He shoved a finger into the coin chute.
Carolyn knew better than to ask questions about his alcoholic family. Hers were not that much better. “We’ll bum a ride from someone.”
“Do you think Father Twomey would give us a lift?” Michael asked.
“He lives in Salem. Driving that way would be in the opposite direction and with gas over a dollar…”
The director puffed a cigarette out front.
“Well, maybe if he gave up those Winston’s, he’d be able to afford to take us.”
Carolyn elbowed him. “Don’t be rude. Everyone has a vice.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Michael’s eyes widened. “I know. Seth! Seth Stevenson can pick us up. You’ll get to ride in his Camaro.” Michael’s playmate was a constant topic of conversation.
“Michael, I don’t know.” Just the thought of the quarterback sent a flutter through her core—part infatuation and part anxiety. “Do you think he’d mind?”
“Listen, I gave him the best time the other day.” He chuckled and wedged a hand into his jeans pocket. “He owes me.” He held up a dime. “He even said if I ever need anything, he’ll protect me.”
“You and Seth. I can’t believe it. You’re practically boyfriends.”
“Shh!” Michael looked around. “Carolyn, don’t say it so loud. I told you, if anyone ever found out… He’s the high school jock, for God’s sake. He’s got a reputation to uphold.”
“And so do you.”
At quarter to six, rehearsal finished.
“Good night, Tracy.” Carolyn admired her twelfth-grade partner from the Streisand/Summer duet they shared. “You sang beautifully.”
“You, too,” Tracy replied. “I’m glad Father Twomey’s letting you sing Barbra’s part. You’re much better at the high notes.”
“Really? Thanks!” The recognition floored Carolyn. “See you Monday.” In a rush of excitement, she added with clapping hands, “We’ll get out just in time to watch the Academy Awards.”
Tracy grimaced. “You watch that?” She left.
Carolyn felt stupid for having brought the ceremony up—and clapping in excitement to boot. She watched the attractive senior embrace a handsome blond who met her at the door. Carolyn stooped at the shoulders.
Michael skipped down the aisle toward her. “He’s gonna do it. He’s gonna do it,” he sang. “He’s picking us up in a few minutes. I just called him again.”
“Really?” Carolyn swallowed. She’d been fascinated with Seth through Michael’s portrayal of him as a god. Plus, the pictures she’d cut out of him from the Sports section of the school newspaper fanned her curiosity. “I’ve never actually met him.” She plucked the hem of her sweater.
“Don’t worry. He’s sweet, once you get beyond his tough-boy exterior. Though, he and I might have to spend a minute or two alone.”
“Michael! Doing what?”
“Don’t worry. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
“You’re not gonna…I can’t believe you.”
“Just a quickie,” Michael whispered.
“What?” She lowered her voice to match Michael’s. “Where are you gonna do it? What if you get caught?”
“No one’s going to catch us. We’ll find a discreet place. Besides, he doesn’t last long.”
She moved away. “That’s disgusting.”
“Oh, Carolyn, don’t be such a fuddy-duddy. Do you think the Rose would act that way?”
They sauntered into the lobby.
Father Twomey closed the auditorium doors and, in the school’s main lobby, announced, “That’s it, girls and boys…great rehearsal. Can’t wait for opening night. Now, don’t forget to run through your parts a couple of times over the weekend. I’ll see you all Monday, same time.” He moved to the lobby’s exit. “Does everybody have a ride home?”
The handful of remaining students answered affirmatively and went outside to cars waiting in the bus row and the adjacent parking lot.
“My mom’s on her way,” Carolyn fibbed. “She’s just finishing up a house, running a little late.” The director knew Carolyn’s mother worked multiple jobs.
“You sure? You want me to wait with you?” he asked.
“She’ll be here any minute.” Carolyn cleared her throat. “We’ll be fine.”
“All right, then.” Father Twomey pulled keys out from the mustard polyester pants he always wore. “See you Monday.”
When six approached, Carolyn lost hope on seeing the coming attractions. “I know it’s only a five-minute ride, but it starts soon.” She wound her Timex.
Michael’s heels kicked the cement wall they sat on outside. “Let me call him again.”
“You can’t go back in. The lobby is locked.”
Michael smiled and jumped down. “I shoved a stick in the door just as Father Twome
y was walking out. I think of everything. I’ll be right back.”
“Michael! We could get in trouble.” She watched him over her shoulder. “That’s breaking and entering.”
“No, not really,” he shouted from a distance. “It’s just being a little mischievous.” He opened the door and put the stick back in place before shutting it.
Carolyn waited, hummed a few notes to one of her songs, and watched as the sun descended behind the tree line. From the area to her west—by the municipal skating rink—a screech of tires marked the arrival of a car. She got down from the wall. “Michael? I think he’s…”
Michael came out just as the yellow Camaro roared into the bus lane, spun around, and parked in the small lot by the lobby. Michael ran to the driver’s door.
Carolyn tugged at the collar of her turtleneck and brushed back a lock of her hair.
The engine shut off, and Michael stepped back as the driver-side door creaked open.
Seth Stevenson, tall with spiked brown hair, wore a PVMHS football jersey. His light-blue corduroys matched the shirt’s insignia.
Carolyn held her breath. He’s even more gorgeous in real life.
Chatting, he and Michael stepped up onto the sidewalk.
“Carolyn, this is Seth.” Michael patted his friend’s back.
Seth shrugged off Michael’s touch and headed for the school’s entrance.
“Hi,” Carolyn mumbled as he passed by.
Michael winked at her. “Carolyn, let’s head inside for a few minutes.”
She looked at her watch, threw her hands up, and followed.
In the back row of the theater, Carolyn sat, as Michael and Seth trotted down the center aisle and off behind the stage. “He better be quick. We’re going to miss the opening.”
Carolyn hummed her song. After a few moments, a bang thundered from the lobby.
Carolyn jolted. At first, she thought the school’s front door must’ve slammed shut, but then she heard a commotion in the hall—snickering and laughing. “Shit.”
The auditorium’s door burst open.
She jumped back, and her glasses nearly fell off her face. She recognized the football team members, not only from their jerseys but from the pictures she’d collected from the paper.
They passed around a couple bottles of booze to one another.
“Where is he?” Peter, the running back, slurred his words. “You sure you saw him come in here?”
“Give me the bottle,” said another. “It’s from my dad’s bar.”
Carolyn crept in the opposite direction from where they came.
“Look!” Peter pointed to her. “Is that a girl?” In a sneer, an incisor shined in the light, and he passed the bottle to someone else.
Carolyn’s stomach churned. Dear God.
Quickly, they descended upon her.
She froze as they scattered in and around seats beside her—lounging, sitting, and kneeling.
“Would a homely, I mean pretty, little boy like you like a drink?” The one with piercing blue eyes kicked the back of the seat in front of him. “Oh, no wait…it’s a girl!”
The troop laughed.
“We’re just waiting to go see Norma Rae,” Carolyn blurted, not knowing what else to say, feeling stupid. “Seth is giving us a ride. They’re just getting some of Michael’s stuff.” Why did I say…?
“His stuff, yeah right,” Peter replied.
“C’mon, Peter,” said a boy with a tear in the knee of his jeans. “They’re probably in the dressing room.”
Peter grabbed Carolyn by her sweater.
She screamed and flailed but someone grabbed her ankles and they carried her down to the stage.
Another went to the sound booth and from it yelled, “Look at this shit! A bunch of fucking musicals.” An album flew out from the booth. “Oh, wait…perfect.”
While someone tied a cloth around her mouth, Aerosmith’s “Big Ten Inch” filled the auditorium. Hands held her wrists behind her.
“Okay, Seth, prove to us your masculinity,” the one with piercing blue eyes said. He dragged Michael by the scruff of his neck. “Why don’t you show her your big ten-inch?” Blue Eyes said to Seth.
Seth buttoned his pants, his face flush. “Shit, guys…what the fuck are you doing?”
“Wait a minute, let me get the lights!” one yelled, took a swig of whisky, and from the rafters shined a spotlight.
“So what were you and pretty boy doing behind the stage?” Peter circled Seth.
“He’s my fucking neighbor, asshole! I friggin’ told you that. They needed a lift. We just came to get h-his stuff backstage,” Seth stammered.
The lights went out, leaving only the spotlight center stage.
Seth motioned for the bottle of Canadian Club and took a swig.
Peter put his arms around Seth. “That’s my boy. You like whisky. I brought it for you, my man.” He slapped his shoulder. “The quarterback!” Peter’s arms raised in a victorious V.
Seth took another swig. “So we gonna have ourselves a little party.” He smirked.
Peter grinned, went to Carolyn, and pushed her down on her knees.
Michael grimaced. “Carolyn, I swear I didn’t—”
“Shut up, fag boy!” Peter said and swung a fist into Michael’s face. “You gotta fucking problem or something?”
Michael fell to the floor.
“Peter…Jesus!” Seth grabbed another drink.
Peter went over to Michael, grabbing him by his hair, and lifted his moaning body from the floor.
Michael shuffled on his knees.
“What, fag boy? You like looking at dick or something?” Peter said. “You want my big bulge?” He grabbed his own crotch and then pushed Michael’s face into his groin.
Carolyn wedged her mouth out of the tie. “Leave him alone!” She fumbled to get up.
Seth stepped forward and passed the bottle to Peter. “Watch it, girl.” Seth pushed her back down. “Pete there is my man.”
“You fucking lowlife,” Carolyn said to Seth, a line she’d learned from The Rose, but before she could get out anything more, he grabbed her hair and rammed her face into his crotch. She tried to bite him but suddenly several were on top of her, pulling at her back. Her sweater tore.
Black.
Grumbling.
Moaning.
The sting of alcohol on her cut lip.
The song changed from Aerosmith to Janis Joplin.
“Hey, doesn’t this kind of look like her?” a voice slurred.
She felt an album against her face.
“They’re both just as ugly.”
Laughter.
Whisky poured in her mouth.
“I think we need her front and center.”
Her head struck the stage as someone dragged her by the feet.
Too numb to kick.
“Let me get her in the spotlight.”
The heat of the lamp warmed her naked torso.
“If you’re not going to sing for us, I might have to fuck you,” Seth mumbled into her ear. His weight felt heavy on her back.
She tried fighting, but her head swam in confusion and…alcohol?
Michael’s voice muttered over and over, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He whimpered.
The gang in the front row mentioned something about watching a show at the Golden Banana strip club on Route 1.
“Maybe we should go through her back door,” Seth said. “Ain’t that what you’re supposed to do with homely boys?”
“Yeah!” the team cheered.
“Michael over there might like that.” Seth’s breath stank of whisky and cigarettes.
Her hair covered her face, but through strands, she saw Michael under the baby grand, face winced in pain. Peter poured Canadian Club in his mouth and then took some for himself.
“You were supposed to protect me.” Michael wiped blood from his nose.
Seth shot up, went to Michael, and kicked him in the stomach.
Peter joine
d in.
And another.
Then, Seth was back on her. “I’ll fucking kill you if you say a word,” he mumbled into her ear.
Carolyn bit down on her wrist to lessen the pain of his entry.
“I’ll fucking”—he went in deeper—“kill…you.”
His teammates chuckled.
Michael screamed.
“Trot, trot to Boston,” the group sang. “Trot, trot to Lynn. Watch out, Carolyn, you might fall in.”
The light hurt her eyes. The scratch of the record punctured the air. Though Carolyn’s watch had been shattered, the Timex read 8:30. She fumbled to her knees and slipped in something foul smelling.
“It’s over.” Michael groveled closer. When his face rose, his left eye was bruised and swollen. “They’re gone.” His head bobbed and blood dripped from his mouth. “I’m…I’m sorry.” His face scrunched and he wept.
Dazed, Carolyn looked around. “We-we should clean this up.” The foul smell was on her hands and now her face as she tried to swat away her hair with the back of her hand. She slid, face forward. “No one…needs to know. No…no one can find out.”
Siss. The chafe of a record, as if stuck in the final groove of the album, grew louder.
Michael stumbled upward and put out a hand. He teetered but caught himself on the microphone stand, gathered the piano cover—a dark velvet drape that normally covered it—and wrapped Carolyn in it. He helped her up.
They inched their way to the auditorium’s center aisle.
Carolyn trembled. She feared a return of the boys, looked over her shoulder, and fell onto a seat third row from the stage. It was hard to think through her headache.
Black.
Next, Michael escorted her through the lobby and across the way into the gym.
Hot water showered down on them.
Steam rose as she sobbed, and Michael washed away blood and feces from her body.
Afterward—dressed in discarded gym uniforms—they scoured the stage of any evidence of the incident. Michael shut off the spotlight and the record player and tidied up the sound booth.
Summerwind Magick: Making Witches of Salem Page 28