“You look American—you’re not?”
“Well, to be honest…” Mrs. Pennington fixed her gaze on a billboard of a brunette model in a long, sleek gown wearing a white fur coat, lounging in a huge martini glass eating a green olive. “That’s me,” she pointed at the billboard.
“No way! Oh, my gosh—that is you!” Barbey was envious, but at the same time felt honored to be driving in the same car as a successful model. “I didn’t know you’re a model.”
“Yes. Surprised an old goddess like me could lounge above the world with my legs in the heavens? Here I am pasted up high for everyone to bow down to.”
“You surprise me—it’s like you’re suddenly speaking in poems.” Barbey’s mind was spin, spin, spinning and she was looking in one place. “You do look like a cocktail goddess.”
“So, you want to know about me or what?”
“Yeah, of course. You mean, like in reference to whether you’re American or not?”
“Yeah. I was born here, but my pa raised me and he hardly ever spoke because he had a strong hillbilly accent and jumbled up grammar that he was ashamed of. He inherited a couple million dollars from a relative that he’d never met and we packed up traveling to odd, remote places in the world mostly throughout my childhood, so I didn’t hear a lot of English until I was an adult.” A car cut in front of her and was driving too slow for the lane. “Move, moron. I don’t have all night!” She held her hand down on the horn. “Mostly I spoke hillbilly with Pa and when I grew up I learned better English in adult education classes for learners of English as a second language even though it was my first.” She turned onto Highway 8.
“What are some of the places you’ve traveled to?”
“We lived in a bat cave in Cafari for a long time and we lived in Napaj in a lighthouse that Pa built himself. The funny thing was that there were hardly ever boats around that needed light, so eventually we left. Pa was an ex-convict, so he didn’t like to be around people.”
“Why didn’t he want to be around people?”
“He was afraid he’d do something bad and end up back in prison.”
“Why’d he make you live in a bat cave?”
“A teacher at his junior high school read the class that story, Frankenstein, when he was a boy and he always wanted to be a vampire after that.” She laughed.
“Don’t you mean that his teacher read Dracula rather than Frankenstein? Dracula’s about vampires.”
“No,” she was visibly irritated. “Pa said we moved to the cave because of Frankenstein. He said a vampire could kill any Frankenstein on the planet earth. He wanted to watch bats so he could find out how to be a human one. ‘No could prison a bat keep trapped those in bars,’ he said.”
“I knew someone who was dyslexic once.”
“Bummer. We also stayed in the jungles of Ris Kanla. I think they spoke some Indian-type language there.” Some men in the back of an old pick-up truck mooned Barbey and Mrs. Pennington as the truck drove past in the fast lane. “Those creeps don’t know who they’re messing with.” She cracked her knuckles. “We lived in a mud hut. It was terrible when it rained because all those poisonous snakes and spiders that lived in the dirt cracks would come out into our hut. We’d stand on the hammock and Pa would hack off all the snake heads with an ax. I’d just scream until he smacked me. Look how that pick-up keeps slowing down, cutting in and out of the lanes.”
“Yeah, I see them.”
“I hate men.” She continued, “And when we had to wade across the river, we’d come out on the other side soaked with leeches all over our bodies. Pa didn’t mind because that gave him some more ideas about sucking blood.”
“Ouch.” Barbey was interested in Mrs. Pennington’s stories, but she was more troubled that Rave had stood her up. “Do you think Rave will be at the party with Parker?”
Mrs. Pennington looked at Barbey and shook her head. “If he is there, we probably won’t know it.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“But on the sunny side…oh, I mean on the bright side, if you’re soul mates, you’ll see him. I think that damned truck is following us. Don’t look back. They’re right behind us with their brights on.”
It was easy for Barbey to ignore the truck because she felt embarrassed about asking about Rave. She didn’t want to seem obsessed over him, so she refrained from further inquiries. “Are those real diamonds all over your dash board?”
Mrs. Pennington laughed long and hard. “Yes, they are. Pa found them in a cave in Askala. Isn’t that large blue one above the radio out of this city?”
“It’s huge! I’ve never seen a blue diamond.”
The pick-up pulled along the passenger side of the Porsche and the men in the truck bed wagged their tongues at Barbey and grabbed onto their pants between their legs.
“I actually prefer the white ones—blue’s a bit gaudy, wouldn’t you say?” Mrs. Pennington laughed as she ran her fingers through her hair. Then she flipped off the men in the truck.
“Maybe we should, like, drive to a police station?”
“Oh, don’t worry about those losers. If we just ignore them, they’ll forget about us soon. They’re drunk which means limited attention spans. Once they see they’re getting nowhere with us, they’ll move on to someone nicer and more innocent.”
“You really don’t look like the type who has lived in a bat cave and a mud hut. You’re so pretty and feminine looking.”
“I know!” she batted her eyelashes and smiled. “When I was eighteen, I came back to the states and went to etiquette school in Arkansas. Now I’m just a regular southern belle, a lady in waiting. Yeah, right. I ain’t waiting anymore.”
Barbey was further perplexed because Mrs. Pennington’s feather boa and tough attitude made her appear more like a showgirl than a southern belle.
“Let me tell you a little secret, Barbey Belle.” Mrs. Pennington cupped her lips in a half moon and whispered to Barbey, “I hated living like a dirty animal all those years. Whenever we were in town picking up supplies, Pa used to buy these sexy magazines of women both naked and in bright feathery clothing and jewels, so during the long lonely nights when Pa was asleep or too drunk to notice what I was doing, I used to look at the pictures of these beautiful women and dream of someday being just like them. I vowed to realize my dream. And I did. Look at me now.”
“But your dress is actually quite conservative and classy.”
“Etiquette school and sexy magazines create quite a contradiction—wouldn’t you say? Always keep ’em guessin’ is my motto.”
Mrs. Pennington was correct, the pick-up truck eventually sped ahead increasing its pace to over a hundred miles an hour. When Mrs. Pennington pulled off their exit, Barbey saw the same pick-up truck on the side of the road smashed against a Rabbit convertible that said on the license plate, SWEET16. She saw the girl trying to fight off the men as they threw her into the bed of the pick-up. Barbey screamed in horror.
“Oh, gawd,” Mrs. Pennington gasped. “You can’t stop ’em.”
“Pull the car over,” Barbey screamed. “We’ve got to help her.”
“Help her and they’ll get us too. I’ll stop at a pay phone and call the police.”
****
When they arrived at the party, Barbey was shaken up and wished they had written down the license plate number for the police. Mrs. Pennington had said it was best that she, rather than Barbey, talk to the police over the phone and that she not leave their names because women shouldn’t be connected to a rape investigation—it would only put their lives at risk. She gave the emergency operator a quick description of the men, the truck and the location, but hung up the phone before the operator was finished questioning her.
The mansion where the party was being held was white with Greek pillars at the front entrance, set off the road, on a twenty acre, flat plot of overgrown grassy fields with a few trees randomly dispersed. Mrs. Pennington parked her Porsche behind a line of cars that were pa
rallel parked beside a long white wooden fence that held in some cattle. The front door was open, so the two walked into the dark foyer without knocking, Mrs. Pennington, exaggerating the sway of her hips and Barbey noticeably nervous, biting her nails. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s here,” Barbey said.
“Oh, they’re here. They’re probably in the back of the house.”
“You’ve been here before?”
“Sure, I have. This is our good friend Gary’s house.”
“How does he have such a big house?”
“He inherited it from his parents, but he’s not so young like you and Parker.” Mrs. Pennington took Barbey’s hand and led her down a dimly lit long hall with plain walls and red velvet carpet. There were many bedrooms off the hall, but all the doors were shut. Barbey could hear muted voices and movement from behind some of the doors. Afraid, she regretted coming and wanted to go home, but was trapped with no car of her own.
One of the bedroom doors flew open and a guy in his mid-twenties with long brown hair and a goatee ran into the hall laughing as he tripped and fell on his face. “Get out while you still can,” he yelled at Barbey and Mrs. Pennington as he continued to laugh while rolling onto his back upon the floor. “This place is hell!” The bedroom door slammed closed and he ran back over to it banging with his fists, “Hey, let me in losers!”
As Mrs. Pennington and Barbey entered the door at the very end of the hall, Mrs. Pennington quickly excused herself to the restroom, darting across the dim, smoky living room through an archway that led to a bedroom with an adjoining bathroom. Barbey was still standing in the doorway, concerned about the guy who continued pounding on the bedroom door and calling out to his friends behind it. As she closed the door and focused her attention on the living room she had just entered, she was surprised to see through the smoke many people she recognized from high school sitting on beanbags and futons passing around a bong. When one of the girls she knew from her typing class saw her, the girl tried to hide the bong behind her back. The other young people also seemed uncomfortable to see Barbey at the party. “Hi Krista,” Barbey said to the girl from typing class.
The girl didn’t answer, but smiled uncomfortably. Some of the other kids yelled at Krista to hurry up with her turn at the bong, so she inhaled and the party resumed. A few of the other kids teased Barbey playfully, as she stood at the door, for being at a party. One boy said, “Oooh, the homecoming queen has arrived to report us all to Mr. Langston.” Mr. Langston was their high school principal.
Barbey smiled at her classmates feeling awkward and embarrassed. She was surprised to see that all these people she had been superficially friendly with from school were into doing drugs. It occurred to her that everyone from high school had been hiding reality from her for some reason. She wondered what other things her classmates had been involved in that she was oblivious to. Suddenly, she felt a sharp sadness sweep over her all at once like a sandy wind that blew into her eyes without warning. She felt very alone as if she were stranded solitarily in the desert. Pink Floyd’s “Hello” was playing on the stereo coming from a speaker next to the fire place. The music was foreign to her and she began feeling queasy as the loneliness further enveloped her as she leaned against a wall. She looked around for Rave, but didn’t see him there. In a sense, she was relieved that she had not seen him because she would have been embarrassed for him to see that the other kids viewed her as an outsider.
Tanya Parsons, a petite, shapely blonde with thick mascara and tight jeans that hugged her inflated saddle bags approached Barbey handing her a plastic cup filled with beer. “The keg and everyone else are in the game room through that doorway.” She pointed to the doorway across from the archway where Mrs. Pennington had retreated.
Although Tanya had matured some since middle school, she could never forget the time she falsely accused Barbey to the physical education coach for cheating on her sit-ups during a timed test. Presumably, she had been jealous that Barbey had broken the female record for sit-ups. So, to Barbey’s indignant shock, she reported that Barbey lied about her score. Because Barbey was honest and well mannered, the coach, siding with her, sent Tanya to the principal for lying. Barbey was never able to figure out why a person would fabricate such a lie at the expense of another. This sort of maniacal behavior was beyond her comprehension. “Thank you for the beer,” Barbey said feeling awkward and self-conscious. She was glad somebody was talking to her though, even if this somebody was someone she disliked.
“That white dress makes you look like an angel,” Tanya said touching the strap of Barbey’s dress.
Barbey became suddenly sad and missed Rave desperately. How could he have stood me up? She wondered what she could have done to deserve such a rejection. “Thank you. I actually feel, like, kind of weird in it like I’m too dressed up.”
“I have a dress exactly like that, but it’s at the dry cleaners right now, so I couldn’t wear it. I always take my clothes to the dry cleaners. I like the dry cleaners…”
Barbey was having trouble concentrating on what Tanya was saying.
“I have so many fancy dresses, but I never wear them to school because I don’t want to show off and make the other kids jealous. That’s why I always wear crummy jeans and sneakers to school. My dad buys me a new dress every week.”
“Oh that’s so nice of your father. I guess he moved back to California?” Barbey was surprised because she had always thought Tanya’s father was in a Texas prison.
“Yes, yes. He travels back and forth from his huge mansion in Hawaii. Sometimes I stay with him in Hawaii. When I do, he also buys me pearl necklaces and those designer Hawaiian print bikinis that I f-ing hate.”
“My dad never buys me anything, so you’re very lucky. Oh, he bought me an ugly moped for my twelfth birthday, but when he got mad at me, he took it away. My grandpa had the Jeep I drive now custom made for me though, but I’m not supposed to drive it until I’m sixteen. Nobody in my family pays attention to that though. It’s just easier for them if I drive myself places.” Barbey was wondering whether Rave might be in the game room with Parker. She decided that if she saw him, she would act really mad.
“I had a brand new black convertible Mercedes, but some punk loser crashed into it and totaled it to pieces.”
Barbey was shocked. “Were you ok?”
“Oh, yeah.” She shifted her eyes around. “It was parked in front of my apartment at the time, so I wasn’t in it. The pinhead died though. He deserved it, mother A.”
“Do you know who Parker Pennington is?”
“Oh, yeah. You know Parker?”
“Yes.”
“I’m surprised. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy you would hang with.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing. He and I used to kind of have a thing going on—you know. He’s uh, well never mind. How do you know him?”
“He’s going out with Sage.”
“Sage Richards?!” She started laughing.
Barbey rolled her eyes in irritation. “Why are you laughing?”
Tanya tried to calm herself with deep inhalations of breath. “It’s just so ridiculous. Sage and Parker! Now that is the fairy tale of the century! I can’t believe Sage Richards would go out with Parker! Unbelievable! I have to tell Marty. She will die when she hears this. Isn’t Sage a virgin?”
Barbey was uncomfortable with the question. “I don’t know. Is Parker here?”
“Yeah, he’s in the game room DJ’ing. I gotta go tell Marty.” Tanya walked over to her friend who was sitting on a bean bag with the other smokers and whispered in her ear. They both started laughing and giving each other high fives.
Barbey thought it might be rude if she left the room before Mrs. Pennington returned from the bathroom, so she continued thinking about Rave as she leaned against the wall and set the cup of beer down on a shelf. When she thought about how Rave had treated her with such disregard, she felt deeply humiliated and sad. Then, as if someone f
lipped on a light switch and a huge floodlight suddenly sprayed out in all molecular directions, she felt a surge of saving strength charge through her body, light up her mind, and now all at once, she felt arrogant and full of herself, indignant that a boy from a milk carton would have the nerve to not show up for her. He could have at least called to cancel. It was shocking and beyond her comprehension or experience for a person to act so irresponsibly, to defy societal rules of conduct. He must have been in a car crash she decided.
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