The Secret Sister, page 20
I knew Birdie wouldn’t be back this time. I had nothing. Nobody in the world.
“Call the cops,” whined Patti. “I think he’s dead.”
I couldn’t hear anything but a weird gurgling sound coming from Lester’s nose as I handed Patti a Kleenex, picked up my coat and walked out the door.
28
Grief is like anesthesia.
You become numb and disembodied. A random mass of cells suspended in the ether. Your senses shut off from the to and fro of everyday life.
When Birdie left for good, I had no purpose left.
Protecting her had been my driving force – my reason to survive one nightmare home after another. Without her I was a non-person with no direction, no family, no identity. And with such a weight of sorrow on my shoulders it would crush me like an insect.
When I left the Flatts’ apartment and slammed their battered front door, I half-slid, half-ran downstairs to the street only stopping to flex my fingers and touch my face and body to reassure myself I still existed. I tried to settle my breathing – tried to erase the image of Lester’s bloodied face, and Birdie’s head nestled against Loni’s shoulder like a child reunited with her mother.
The street was deserted, Birdie, Loni and friends long gone. A bright moon shone behind ragged clouds, and I stood still for a moment to let the night sounds engulf me. A dog howled in a back yard, traffic hummed on a freeway bridge, then a siren sounded, its high-pitched whine edging closer. Patti had cleaned up the drug paraphernalia and called 911. The urge to escape jolted me into action. I ran, the damp air slapping at my face, until I shuddered to a stop at the corner of the block. Nighttime traffic flashed by. My head spun. Which way to go? I had no home. Belonged nowhere. I stood, temporarily blinded by the glare of headlights, and rested my hands on my knees, bent my head and gulped in chilly mouthfuls of air.
I had no home.
So I started jogging in the direction of the mall, my only sanctuary. I ran, the tears sticky on my cheeks until I reached a patch of grass near the mall entrance.
I flung myself down on the ground and rolled over and over in the gritty grass. Pulled my hair, ripped my clothes, howled until my throat was raw and my face covered in snot. Then I lay there, burnt out and hollow, staring up at stars that shone like silver pinpricks in an infinite black expanse of sky.
I’d already made my mind up to jump off the bridge into the river. The stars were just pointing the way. It would be so easy to let the muddy waters close in over my head and fill my lungs until they burst. Nobody cared anyway. My death would be insignificant – less impact than a fly smudged over a windshield.
I got up again and ran towards the river. Exhausted I stumbled down the bank towards the Stone Arch Bridge. The place where Birdie and I had eaten hot dogs and watched the tourists go by. Envious of the bright, laughing faces of those happy families. We didn’t know the truth then. But now I was wiser. Now I knew that families were just collections of disparate individuals thrown together by nature. Parasites who sucked the life from each other while trying to promote their own miserable, selfish needs.
I grasped the painted metal railing, hiccupping and retching at the same time. I howled into the night like a stray, unloved dog. The river lapped and sloshed below me, its muddy brown water flecked with golden coins of light from the streetlamps. All I had to do was hitch myself up onto the parapet. No problem. Wipe myself out.
I was done with everyone.
With every careless person who’d treated me as less than human.
I hoisted my body upwards and leaned over the parapet, when a hand clamped down on my shoulder. I froze.
“Don’t move,” said a soft voice. “Stay absolutely still.”
I turned round to see a gray-haired man with a silver goatee. A hand with pink, manicured nails grasped my arm so tightly I couldn’t move.
“You might think things are so bad you don’t have a choice, but you can’t throw your life away.”
My head swam. The man’s face blurred in and out of focus, like a picture taken too closely. I jumped down and for a split second he loosened his grip. That’s all I needed to yank myself away from him and sprint away in the opposite direction.
* * *
“Are you okay, ma’am?” said an urgent voice. Someone was shaking my arm. I blinked my eyes and focused on the crushed coffee cup lying on the table. I glanced up at the red-haired barista. I was still at the outlet mall. At the coffee shop. I’d sat down at one of their tables after spotting Rafferty’s henchman, Jimmy. A puddle of brownish foam leaked over the edge of the table and soaked into my jeans.
“I-I’m okay,” I said, grabbing a handful of napkins and dabbing at the mess. Then I stuffed the whole lot into the garbage as I left, slamming the exit door open so fast I almost took out a middle-aged woman on the other side.
I could barely remember driving home, but somehow I got back to the empty condo, stripped off my coffee-stained clothes and poured myself a stiff shot of brandy. Afterwards I lay back on the sofa, trying to collect my thoughts and orient myself.
Guy was late because he’d gone to some stag party with Gord. I glanced at the pile of bags arranged in front of me. I’d been buying clothes for my new career with Gord’s company. And somehow Gord was connected with Peter Karrass, the man I’d remembered from the bridge the terrible night Birdie left me at the Flatts’ place. I hadn’t imagined his face glowing like a half moon in the darkness. Karrass. The man who stopped me from jumping into the raging waters. He was at the wedding celebration at Gord’s house. Now memories of places and people were melting into each other, blurring the lines of what was real. The past was bleeding into the present.
My phone buzzed with a text from Guy.
Rescue me. I’m too drunk to drive.
The address followed. Some swish area, about three miles away. I texted back.
Be there in 20.
Traffic would be light so it shouldn’t take me long.
To calm myself I unpacked all my new clothes and threw them onto hangers, slotting them into place among the silks, cashmeres and fine cottons. From the back of the closet I extracted a stretchy red and black dress. It was tiny, with a plunging neckline. Strange how small items from the past kept reappearing. Like Birdie’s ring.
I shuddered and snapped off the closet light.
The dress fit like a second skin, hugged at my hips and ass even though I hadn’t worn it in years. But the underwear had to go. Panty lines were a no-no in micro-dresses like this. A pair of red strappy sandals and a slick of scarlet lipstick and I was ready to deliver Guy from the bachelor party.
29
I drove along the tree-lined shore of Lake Calhoun. On the other side, the downtown towers twinkled like magic boxes, their lights reflected in the calm waters. The house Guy had directed me to was a grand three-story detached mansion, partially obscured by trees at the top of a sweeping driveway. Every light in the place was blazing. Silhouetted figures moved back and forth across the windows.
My stomach gurgled. I couldn’t remember when I’d eaten last, so I texted Guy, told him I was waiting outside and asked him to grab me some food on the way out. I waited a few minutes. No response. Texted again and still nothing. Either he was too drunk to reply or he’d lost his phone. Neither were great options. I didn’t want to drag him out in front of Gord and a bunch of leering revelers and I also didn’t relish the idea of rooting through someone else’s furniture looking for his phone.
The air was cool and goosebumps prickled my arms and legs. Why the hell had I worn this skimpy dress? Some logic had directed me to unearth it from my old suitcase. Had the address jogged some lost memory? Some association with this house?
I edged around a vine-covered wall and peeked in through a side window to a circular white vestibule. Inside, a speckled marble floor and a sweeping oak staircase led upstairs to a darkened space from which the swell of laughter, chatter and voices rose and fell. A small sitting room lined with white couches was off the hallway. Inside I made out the shapes of couples embracing.
A tall man in tan slacks and a white shirt open to the navel, padded down the stairs holding the hand of a thin slip of a girl. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen, her eyes ringed with dark liner, her feet bare. She stopped for a moment to take in the crystal chandelier, the Baroque mirror and the white Rodin knockoff on the walnut occasional table, but the man tugged her towards him and led her to the room beyond where the other couples writhed and squirmed on couches and chairs.
I knew there’d be girls there. This was Gord’s kind of place. Alpha males on the prowl for tail. Young tail. As young as you could get. Younger than your botoxed wife sleeping soundly under her goose down duvet.
Slipping through an open side door, I padded into the vestibule, my shoes dangling from my hands. The lights were dimmed in that small sitting room but the sound of moaning and heavy breathing was like a weird chorus. Glancing up the spiral staircase with its heavy oak bannister and cream and black carpet, I weighed my options. Either thread my way through the bodies in that dark sitting room and hope Guy was slumped somewhere in a corner or venture upstairs into the party proper.
I decided to go upstairs – more chance of blending in with the crowd. As I climbed upwards, the din of laughter, voices and muddled music grew louder until it became so deafening the bannister vibrated.
It was pitch-black at the top of the stairs, the massive room lit with flashing lights that bounced off walls and bodies and faces. The place reeked of cigars, booze and male sweat. I figured if I kept to the periphery of the room, I could go almost unnoticed because it was packed with men of all ages eating, swigging beer, playing cards in the far corner. A young girl lay stark naked on a nearby table surrounded by pastries. Men crowded around gawking and cheering as one after the other placed cannoli pastries in strategic positions on her body and attempted to eat them without using hands.
Young girls with makeup-slathered faces sidled up to them and bared their bum for a slap, a feel. Some girls wore cowbells draped round their necks. I watched as drunken men took their hands and led them upstairs or down to the lower sitting room. These were the freelancers. The ones who offered special services to make extra money on the side. Money that came in handy for kids’ clothing or college tuition or just more swag.
Guy was nowhere to be seen, so I continued around the edge of the room, dodging the hands that slid my way. Someone started chanting up ahead where a knot of guys had gathered around another spectacle. As I came closer I made out the back view of a familiar young girl. I edged round for a front view and my heart slammed in my ears when I saw her face. It was Carla, her eyes squeezed shut, her half-naked body thin and pale as a child’s. A drunk old guy who could’ve been an accountant or bank manager groped and kissed her while the others egged him on. Without another thought I lunged forward and yanked his stiff gray hair. He yelped and let go of her. Seizing the opportunity I grabbed her arm, jerking her away from the crowd of wide-eyed men who stumbled backwards in shock. I shoved her behind me, noticing how her head lolled onto her chest and saliva dribbled down her chin. She was high.
“Goddamn animals,” I hissed. “She’s only fifteen.”
“Who let this crazy bitch in?” yelled Bank Manager. His buddies edged forward, their eyes hungry, eager to teach me a lesson. “Where’s security?”
I squared off with them and held up my cell phone. I hadn’t totally forgotten life on the streets. “I’m recording all this. Come any closer and I’ll scream bloody murder and phone the cops.”
They paused, weighing up my threat. Considering their options.
“Maybe there’ll be a nice spread in the paper so your wives and bosses can see what fine family guys you all are. Just let me out with the girl and everything’s cool.”
Palms held upwards, Bank Manager held the other guys back. “Okay, cool. No worries. Take the girl and get the hell out of here.”
A loud wave of music drowned my voice out. Bodies swam in front of me lit blue, green and red by the dancing lights. A tall girl with pneumatic breasts waltzed by and Bank Manager and his cronies turned tail to follow her.
A bald guy wearing a black silk shirt, turned back to me and whispered, “I’d get the hell out of here if I were you. Earl doesn’t take kindly to anyone that messes with his girls.”
I realized I’d have to leave Guy here, since he was nowhere in sight, but across the room, surrounded by a sea of faces I spied Karrass slugging beer from a bottle, standing behind Gord who was bent over the cannoli girl, head bobbing as he struggled to lick the cannoli cream from her thighs. Things began to blur and for a moment I forgot Carla was still hanging onto my arm. Bald Guy tapped my arm and I sprang backwards like an electric volt had charged through my veins.
“You okay?” he said. “Only you look like you’re gonna keel over.”
I shook my head and backed away. Carla whimpered behind me, coming down from whatever drug she was on. I grabbed a cloth from one of the food tables and draped it around her shoulders. Across the room the door to the spiral staircase glowed like a magic portal and I slithered around the edge of the room letting the lights and music swallow us into blessed oblivion.
* * *
After five minutes of driving, Carla moaned that she wanted to throw up so I pulled up onto the grassy roadside and helped her out. A stream of booze gushed out of her skinny body until she was dry heaving. I stopped at a gas station and bought her a bottle of cold ginger ale and made her drink it. By this time she was giving me furtive sideways glances.
“Why were you there, Anna?” she murmured, clinging onto the neck of the old sweater I’d found in my backseat.
“My husband was at the stag. He asked me to pick him up.”
She leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. Tears leaked from beneath her lashes. I laid a hand on her bony wrist. “It’s okay. You don’t have to go back. I’ll take you home.”
When she shook her head, her whole body moved. “He’ll come and find me. It’s too late.”
She lifted the tablecloth and turned sideways. Tattooed in stylish, looped script across her buttock was a signature. Earl J. Rafferty. The car swerved to the right, almost hitting the guy in the next lane. I tried to collect myself. Grasp the wheel tight with both hands.
I’d seen that signature before.
The night I almost killed myself on the bridge I kicked the gray-haired guy in the crotch before I ran away. I didn’t like the way his manicured body invaded my space, hated the clammy pressure of his fingers on my wrist.
He yelped, doubled over clutching himself as I ran past the dark stores and cafes, to the mall – the only place I could think of. Maybe Birdie would be there. She’d take pity on me. Let me sleep on a couch somewhere. Even the floor of some motel room would do, but then that sharp knife twisted in my heart again. She’d left me for Loni. She screwed the only guy I’d ever cared for. She despised me now. I’d seen the hatred burning in her eyes when she went off with Loni.
The stores were five minutes from closing, so I wandered around in a daze trying to figure out where I could go. Alone, unwanted, and scared, the world closed in on me and hope was a distant dream. I drifted towards the gamers’ store. There was no more rescue plan. Colby was my only hope.
I slept on the couch in Colby’s basement for two days until Birdie showed up with Loni. Supposedly to check up on me to see if I was okay, but I knew she just wanted to hit me up for food or money to buy drugs or even piss me off by making eyes at Colby. Her hands shook so badly I almost felt sorry for her. Especially when I could see she was freaking Colby out.
He didn’t know she’d told me about their little session. I figured I’d forgive him for it. But when his mom came back from her job at the hospital and found Birdie and Loni rooting through the fridge, she said she’d had enough and told me to go back to my social worker. Said she was really sorry but she couldn’t take on the cost of feeding all these extra mouths, or risk having junkies and troublemakers in the house when she had her grandchildren to look after three days a week. Birdie was long gone by that time, though I knew she’d be back when she was hungry or needed money. She’d never leave me alone.
I hoped Colby would stand up for me, plead my case with the same cool logic he’d used in all our literary arguments. But faced by his mother’s demands he became a tongue-tied kid. Not the enigmatic, shadow boy with the cool intellect and sexy whisper.
“Reid went ahead and rented his spare room out,” he said, a sheepish look on his face. “What will you do?”
I shrugged. “Maybe hook up with Birdie and the other kids at the Capri Motel. The workers there are so slack they won’t notice another body sleeping on the floor and it’s near the mall so I’ll have something to do after school.”
Of course I had no intention of going with Birdie as long as Loni and Duane and all her druggie loser friends were around. I had other plans of my own.
Colby touched my cheek and bent to kiss me. I turned away, my heart frozen. “I didn’t mean to do it with your sister,” he said, his eyes limpid with tears. “I wish I could take it back now.”
“Don’t matter anyway. Not like we were gonna get married or anything.”
“But I like you. You’re smart and interesting. Not like the others. There’s something special about you.”
Words come easy when you’re kicking out someone who has no place to go. You hope it softens the blow. Dulls the edge of the pain. But I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. I wanted to make him suffer. Stick in my own knife and twist the blade.
“You of all people coming up with a cliché like that,” I said, picking up my backpack, the only thing I’d taken from Lester and Patti’s place. I was done with garbage bags. “I really thought you were more of an original thinker. The truth is you’re totally derivative. You plagiarize your ideas from Google and pass them off as your own. The good news on the other hand – you were a great first lay.”
