He laid face up under the dashboard and aided by the flashlight, looked underneath. In his left hand a maze of small, blue, yellow, red, black, white and green copper-filled tubes, any two of which could have been the right ones, painted a puzzled look on his face.
“Hurry,” she whispered.
“Don’t know which are the right wires.”
“Can I help?”
“Uh, yeah, line your finger up under the dash right below where the key goes.”
Natalie found the ignition and slipped the forefinger of her left hand below it.
“How’s that?” she asked.
“Perfect.”
Natalie’s eyes were on Rudy’s face. His lips hadn’t moved. He turned his eyes to hers and she saw the baffled look had transformed into stark terror. She knew if she could see her own reflection, her face would mirror his. That familiar voice with its Jersey accent screeched like a subway’s steel wheels against the tracks. When it rumbled from the backseat and with just one word—“perfect”—a repressive weight of despair fell over her.
“Well, ain’t this cozy?” Tony continued. He sat up and peered over the back of the front seat. “Takin’ your whore for a ride lover boy?”
Rudy remained silent. The flashlight slipped out of his hands and he laid his head on the floor of the driver’s compartment.
Natalie realized Tony must have camped out in the car for insurance. He could have gone anywhere in the barn to stretch out and sleep, but he choose the one place where he could protect his interests. He knew that their first thought would be to take the car, so any escape attempt would include him in the backseat.
She knew she should refrain from engagement, but just like the emotional fights she got into with her mother, the rage she had amassed in reserve thwarted any apprehension that might have suggested caution.
“Why do you insist on calling me a ‘whore?’” she shouted. Her throat horse, she forced herself to articulate every syllable so her message was clear. With the rest over the last few hours, her mind had sharpened. She was ready for battle. To further intimidate, she stepped out of the car, turned toward the back door and slammed it shut with her foot.
“’Cause that’s what you are.” Tony said. “Like a damn umpire, I call ’em as I see ‘em.
Tony slid across the seat to the passenger side door and tried the handle but the child lock had been secured and the door wouldn’t open.
“Damn it,” he yelled. He leaned over the seat, pointed the Python at Rudy and glared out the window at Natalie. “Open the damn door or I’ll blow him to Hell right now.”
Two against one were better odds than her alone, and she wanted no more bloodshed, so she stepped to the door, opened it and then stood back as Tony got out.
“I suppose you’d know all about whores,” she continued and scowled through the gloom at the swollen bloodshot eyes in Tony’s head. “That the only way you get laid?”
“You’d be surprised what gets me off, Bitch.” He turned toward Rudy who still laid as if he had melted into the floor mat, and continued, “Out of the damn car.”
Natalie felt the barrel of the Colt jamb into her ribs and he nudged her toward the coral. “’Bitch’ is no more complimentary than ‘Whore,’” she said. Her side, bruised from when he kicked her in the motel parking lot, ached, but without a flinch she began to walk as directed. “How would you like it if I called you Bastard?”
“You have called me Bastard, and I am one in the truest sense. My mother got knocked up by some guy who didn’t know her name, some guy who didn’t hang around, some guy who paid her for the trick, and the next thing you know, drum roll please, it’s me. So yeah, I’m a goddamn bastard. At least I know what I am but you have this delusion about who you are.”
Natalie continued to walk toward the fire. She saw out of the corner of her eye that Rudy had left the sedan behind and now moved like a lamb to slaughter a few steps away on her left side. Behind her, she heard Tony as his scuffed his foot against the loose dirt of the floor.
Natalie said, “Is that so? Who do I think I am?”
“Oh, you’re Ms. Hollywood. Ms. walk-down-the-boulevard swinging your ass so men’ll notice. Ms. take-off-your-clothes-for-the-camera just to get a part. If that’s not a whore ... ? You’re no better than my ma, spreading her legs for profit.”
Natalie didn’t want that to be true. Her memory flashed back and brought full exposer to Amy’s first sexual experience with the boy in the barn—the one who took her cherry. She went down with him in the hay not because she liked him, or even because she was that curious about sex. She had been brainwashed by her parents, and her church, that sex outside of marriage was a sin. But not being accepted at school by those popular cheerleaders seemed a worse Hell than eternal damnation. Then, after months of scorn, during her sophomore year, the Queen pulled her aside one morning after geometry class.
“See that boy?” she asked with her finger raised toward a boy a year older than her pulling his books out of a locker. “He’s a friend of mine. He told me he wants to meet you but he’s too shy to ask. He’ll be eating his lunch alone today in the quad. Go talk to him and be his friend. If you’ll do that, I’ll consider it a great favor. And if you go all the way with him, there’s an opening in the cheerleading squad—“
“You want me to sleep with him?” Amy asked. Her mouth fell wide open.
“I’ll need a trophy” The Queen ignored Amy’s question with a wink.
“A trophy?”
“Yeah, proof that you really did it … with him.” She nodded toward the boy.
“Like what?” Amy shot a quick glance toward the boy. She couldn’t believe she even entertained the suggestion. He was one of the more popular boys around school and not bad looking. He looked back at her and smiled a sheepish grin.
“His underwear … no, his signed underwear. Bring me his tighty-whiteys with his signature and you’re in the squad.”
Amy didn’t believe in miracles but after her rejection a few months earlier from the cheerleading team she knew it would take a miracle to pull herself out of the rural-farm ghetto class. Now she was being offered a gift, a way to rise out of the slums. It would cost her virginity, but the price paled when she considered the reward. In league with the popular girls would give her the respect she craved.
“I’ll do it,” Amy agreed, although her stomach churned with nervous hesitation.
But the friendship didn’t come, and another girl advanced to the squad. How could Amy know she was being played? She was always so trusting and gullible. As it turned out, one the cheerleader minions was on the outs with the Queen, and the boy in hay was her boyfriend. It all came out when his briefs went up the flagpole. Rather than be embraced with her new found social status, Amy was exposed in front of the whole school as a self-confessed slut.
_____
©
Jearl Rugh 2012
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Rights Reserved
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