End of the Road (Ghost Stories Trilogy #1) (10 page)

Chapter Twenty

Gary hired me on the
spot. He didn’t mind that I didn’t have any identification.

“Everyone is running from
something Peach, I don’t ask any questions. You dance for tips and keep half.”

“Peach?”

“Yeah, your stage name
will be Georgia Peach. The regulars are gonna love you.” He slapped my ass and
walked around behind the bar. “Be back here by nine. You’ll meet the other
girls then.”

“What do I wear?”

“Don’t worry about it.
Just be here at nine and we’ll fix you up real nice.”

I stepped out into the
late day sun and walked down the street towards the strip. I didn’t have enough
money to take a cab back to my motel so I decided to stay close to the club for
the next few hours. I was grateful to have gotten a job and could now afford to
eat, except I was too nervous to think about food at that moment. What had I
gotten myself into? My audition was as awkward as when I first learned how to
ride a bike. Either I impressed Gary with skills I didn’t know I possessed or
he hired every desperate girl that crossed his path. I may have been convincing
to Gary, but was more concerned about the girls and especially the customers,
would my performance be worthy of any tips?

***

Tips were not a problem.
By the time the other girls had put me in a pair of fuchsia hot pants, go-go
boots and teased my hair to high heaven, I looked every bit of a stripper as
the rest. Gary neglected to tell me that I had to dance topless. After the
first ten dollars was stuffed in my waistband, I stopped worrying about being
exposed.

“Georgia Peach, I love
your peaches!” An enthusiastic patron yelled. He held a $5 bill in his
outstretched hand.

“They love you right
back, sir!” I hollered when I retrieved the cash. He hooted and melted back
into the crowd surrounding the stage.

It was hot under the
lights and my feet hurt from the boots, but I made money. The exhaustion at the
end of the night was close to exhilarating.

“Not bad, Peach,” Gary
said and handed me my half of the take. I counted it out and my jaw dropped.

“Fifty dollars? Are you
sure?”

“I’m positive. You earned
every penny. I knew the regs would love you. You have that fresh appeal. Ya
know…never been touched.”

I blushed at his
intonation. “Well, this peach isn’t as fresh off the tree as you think,” I said
and walked to the dressing room. Gary chuckled in the background.

The other five dancers
were getting changed into their street clothes. Star, real name Suzy, had
scrubbed the heavy make-up off her face and looked her age again. I thought I’d
be the youngest dancer at The Mustang Club. Suzy had me beat by a year. Age was
all relative in Vegas.

Darla, nicknamed the
Veteran by other girls because at twenty-six she was the oldest stripper in the
group and had been at the club the longest, smiled at me.

“Made some money tonight,
huh?”

“I did.”

“I could tell from the
glow on your cheeks. So you’ll be back again tomorrow night?”

“Yes.”

“Good. See you then,
hon.” She smiled again and left.

I quickly peeled off the
hot pants, changing into my sundress. I had to wash my face twice and attempted
to comb out my hair, but it was shellacked with hairspray. This made me think
of my mom and how she always tried to keep her girls natural. She didn’t want
us to play up our assets for fear that it would draw attention from unwanted
suitors. She already had potential husbands picked out for us. They were sons
of upstanding members of the church who had already completed their missions.
She got stars in her eyes just thinking about our nuptials. The whole idea made
me want to vomit on her practical shoes.  My mother would have a conniption if
she saw me now.

The thrill of earning
money kept me awake and with the nerves worn off, I was hungry again. I took a
cab to the diner by my motel and ordered the meatloaf plate. It wasn’t as good
as my mom’s, but it was decent. I ate until I was sleepy and then walked back
to my room where I slept until the afternoon.

This became my routine. I
danced all night and slept all day. Occasionally Suzy and I would go out after
work, but she didn’t want to get attached to anyone. Johnny had been gone a
week and a half and even though we fought almost all the time, I missed the
companionship.

In that same time period,
I had earned enough to move to a nicer motel, closer to work. My move didn’t
take long since I only had one bag. My new room had a kitchenette and could
become more permanent. This place also had weekly rates and not as many
cockroaches. I was moving up.

The next night I arrived
at work as usual. Gary and his brother Hank stood by the bar and I waved as I
walked by.

“Whoa, Peach, come back
here. I need to talk to you.”

“Yeah?” I asked cautiously.

I walked back to where
they were standing, first saying hi to Hank before giving Gary my full
attention.

“Peach, Hank here says
you got people lookin’ for ya. They came into the diner last night.”

I froze. The only people
who I could think of were my parents. Hank handed me a piece of white paper and
recognized the image. My parents had used my senior portrait to make up a
poster. Personal details such as my height, weight and date of birth were
listed.

“You’re not nineteen.”

I shook my head,
beginning to feel the sting of tears.

“Then you’re fired. I
can’t have underage runaways working here with parents hot on their tail.
That’s trouble I don’t need.”

“I understand,” I said,
my voice trembling. Gary had no idea that I wasn’t the only girl he needed to
worry about, but I bit my lip and kept Suzy’s secret. I glanced back up at Hank.
“What did you tell my parents?”

“That I’d seen you. You’d
been in before and thought you might live nearby. I wasn’t about to rat my
brother out.”

Well that was a relief.
My parents knew I was in Vegas, I wanted to kill Johnny for telling them, but
they didn’t know where in Vegas. The thought of being dragged back to Taylorsville
spurred me to get moving. After this adventure, my dad would surely imprison me
and marry me off to the only Mormon who would accept me. A life of domestic
servitude was not for me.

“Thanks for everything
Gary. I’m sorry I lied to you.”

“It’s okay, kid. You’re
not the first. Take care of yourself.”

It took me a half hour to
pack and to make it to the bus station; minutes after that I was on the red eye
to Los Angeles.

Chapter Twenty-One

I lived like a gypsy and
bounced around California, spending some time in San Francisco, getting caught
up in the anti-war movement. I lived among many who had left their suffocating
homes; women like me who wanted choices and equality. We partied, protested and
followed bands whose music clearly showed that they got us. I fell in love with
Jim Morrison and The Doors. Their music was poetry and he was a lyrical god. After
seeing their concert at the Avalon Ballroom, I began following the Grateful
Dead, picking up odd jobs along the way to keep money in my pocket.

When I first arrived in
San Francisco, I thought I wanted to settle there, but without a birth
certificate or social security number, legitimate employers wanted nothing to
do with me. It had been almost a year since I left home and I hadn’t had any
contact with my family. I knew that if I was to ever have a real life, I needed
this documentation. So I swallowed my pride and called home from a pay phone.

“Hi Mom, it’s me, Georgia.”

“Georgia! Oh honey, are
you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m fine Mom and I’m in
California.”

“Do you want to come
home? Your father is very angry with you, but I could talk to him.”

“No, but I need a job and
I can’t get one without my birth certificate and social security card, do you
have those?

There was a long pause
and I heard a door close in the background.

“Your father just came
home,” my mom whispered into the phone. “Hold on.”

For once she was on my
side. She wanted to help me and was willing to sneak around my dad. I smiled
and waited. I pictured her in the kitchen peering around the corner to see
which direction he went from the front door. He worked in construction and
usually showered right away.

“Doris, I’m starving. Can
you make me a sandwich?” His voice grew louder as he approached the kitchen and
I subconsciously started grinding my teeth when I heard it.

“Who are you talking to?”
he asked. My mom started stammering. I don’t think she ever told a lie in her
life and it was painful listening to her trying to come up with a name. “Doris?” His tone became more stern and condescending. My palms began to sweat and the
receiver slid in my grip.

“Who is this?” The
closeness of my dad’s voice in my ear made me flinch. “Is this Georgia?” I couldn’t answer, only breathe, and that took effort. “If this is Georgia, don’t ever call here again. You are dead to us.”

Before I slammed the
phone down on the cradle I heard my mom begin to wail. Her cry was so sad and
desperate I was tempted to run back to Taylorsville and comfort her; stay so
she wouldn’t suffer, but self-preservation won out. I decided I didn’t need any
permanency; I’d wind up trapped like her. 

An existence without
roots appealed to me.

***  

In the fall of 1969 I
traveled with a small group from California to Arizona. We took the I-10
through the desert in a beat-up Jeep. Smoke trailed out behind us as we
consumed one joint after another. I had my long skirt bunched up around my
thighs, the sun made my skin feel dry and tight and the wind tangled my hair
into tiny knots. Kevin, one of the two guys in our group sat next to me in the
backseat and held my hand. We weren’t dating, but had slept together in San Diego at a commune. He decided to tag along for a change of scenery. Carly, a girl I
met in San Francisco and who was a free spirit like me, sat in the front
passenger seat. The guy driving the Jeep was someone Carly latched on to at a
Dead show. He mentioned to her his intentions to travel to Arizona and, sensing
an adventure, begged him to let us tag along. I’d heard from her past conquests
that a half-naked Carly is difficult to turn down.

We drove straight through
Phoenix to the ASU campus in Tempe. A protest against the U.S. presence in
Vietnam was scheduled for the next day and we made our way to a sports field
where a crowd had already begun to form. By nightfall more people had shown up
and a party was in full swing. I wound up getting blitzed. A local band started
to play and I twirled around, barefoot on the grass. Then I happened to glance
over at the edge of the crowd and spotted Carly and Kevin kissing. She had her
legs wrapped around his waist and his arms formed a brace under her ass. Now I
never considered myself a jealous person, and I didn’t have a claim on Kevin,
except I had slept with him first. In the frame of mind I was in, the sight of
them together, flipped a switch.

I stomped over to them
and started screaming. “What are you doing? Kevin’s mine!” I yelled at Carly.

They stopped kissing and
both looked at me like they didn’t recognize me at first.

“What?” Carly asked.

“Kevin’s mine.”

Carly looked at Kevin and
then laughed. “I don’t think so. He wouldn’t be all over me if that was the
case.”

“Yeah babe, I don’t
belong to anyone.”

“Fuck you both then!” By
this point I had tears pouring down my face. I ran away from the crowd, needing
to be alone to get my head together. The emotional outburst left me thirsty and
slightly nauseated.

I set out to find a
bathroom and food. A 7-11 provided both and I sat on a curb sipping a cup of
water debating where to go from there when an avocado green Volkswagen van
pulled into the spot next to me. Several guys got out. One of them, a guy with
tan skin and long brown hair caught my attention. He smiled at me as he walked
past. The way his hair hung in his blue eyes reminded me of Johnny. I turned my
head every once in a while to watch his progress through the store and was
quick to pretend I wasn’t looking when he came out.

Hitchhiking was my mode
of transportation. Everyone did it. After I left Vegas, I discovered how easy
it was. I just had to show some skin and cars would pull over, their male
drivers begging for me to ride with them. If I had to do a favor in exchange,
so be it. Peace and Love, man. I was wearing a prairie style dress that had a
long skirt and deep neckline. I pulled this down to reveal more cleavage and
hiked my skirt up to show some leg.

“Do you need a ride or
something?” the guy asked, coming to a stop in front of me, his eyes glued to
my breasts.

I looked up at him.
“Where are you going?”

“You should come with us.
There’s a music festival going on in Flagstaff.”

“Okay.”

He held out his hand and
helped me up off the cement. He introduced himself as Troy and squeezed into
the back of the van with me. After getting comfortable, I ran my fingers
through my long blond hair and lit up a jay. The party had begun.

Tabs of acid were passed
around and I helped myself. One of the guys jammed out on his guitar and we all
grooved along with him. I closed my eyes and let the drugs take hold. Troy’s
fingers danced along my spine and I leaned against him, my head rolling on his
shoulder as I listened to the music. His lips found mine and the kiss was
gentle at first. I kissed him back and this encouraged him. His tongue slid
into my mouth and my drug addled mind interpreted it as a snake. I jerked away,
but Troy’s hand was on my back, holding me close. It was too close and my chest
began to tighten. Suddenly things got weird. I started hearing things and
smelling smoke, only it wasn’t from the joint being passed around. I opened my
eyes and the inside of the van was on fire. The men that had been sitting
around us were melting.

Screaming, I leapt
forward out of my seat and tried to get the driver to pull over by pounding on
the back of his headrest. He kept yelling at me to shut up and batted at my
hands. Flaming arms wrapped around my waist from behind, scorching my stomach
through my dress. I was being dragged back into the inferno and fought every
step. A human torch stood in front of me and slapped me. It felt like my cheek
had ignited, adding to my hysteria. I noticed the van had finally pulled over
to the side of the road. The sliding door opened and I was tossed out onto a
clearing. Flames jumped out of the van licking at my legs.

Suddenly Troy was on top
straddling me, half of his face was melting off and as disgusting as it was, I
was grossly fascinated and reached up to touch the distorted flesh, but he
grabbed my wrist and pinned it over my head. It suddenly registered that I wasn’t
in a good situation. I screamed and clawed at his melting face like a feral barn
cat.

“You bitch!” he bellowed
and backhanded me before ripping the top of my dress apart, exposing my
breasts. I started screaming again, struggling against his weight. He ignited
as if my protests acted as an accelerant. They excited another part of him too
that I felt pressing against me, growing harder the more I struggled against
him. Troy’s hair went up like a candle wick and it raced over his body. The
heat kept increasing and I noticed the skin on my chest bubbling. Kicking,
fighting and screaming did nothing to deter him. His friends didn’t do anything
either, in fact a few were cheering him on while only one kept yelling at him
to stop. Troy shifted and lifted my skirt. I wasn’t wearing any underwear and didn’t
have any barriers left. Everywhere he touched burned.

To silence my screams, Troy
put his free hand over my mouth, covering my nose in the process. I thought my
nose was going to crush under the pressure. Breathing became increasingly
difficult. Black spots appeared in my line of vision. I twisted my head in a
final attempt to break out from underneath his hold. I saw three phantoms off
to the side; two men and a woman. They glowed in the dark and their presence
was strangely comforting.

The burning stopped and I
was no longer pinned to the ground. I turned back to see Troy and his friends
getting back into the van. The fire had been extinguished. Not a trace
remained, no charring, no scorch marks, nothing. The sliding door slammed shut
and the Volkswagen peeled out.

When I went to sit up to
see if the strangers were still with me, I noticed my head and upper torso were
still on the ground and I was staring down at them. It was if I had peeled a
carbon copy of myself up. With a yelp, I attempted to jump to my feet, but
wound up practically floating over my body.
LSD, it has to be the LSD
,
was my first thought. I sensed a presence to my left. The woman approached,
glowing brighter than earlier. If she didn’t have curves I probably would have
mistaken her for a boy as she wore dark denim jeans and a flannel shirt. Her
dark hair was short and tucked behind her ears.

She told me her name was Juanita
and then she said life no longer existed for me. I slapped her and my hand
passed through her face as if it was made of air. Startled, I stepped backwards
onto the highway and directly into the path of a speeding Mustang convertible.
I stood, frozen in place, and it drove right through me. The driver didn’t even
flinch.

He couldn’t see me.

I walked back and stood
watch over my lifeless body. Juanita stayed by my side. She told me the names
of the two other ghosts who were respectfully keeping their distance.

It didn’t take long after
dawn for my corpse to be discovered. Unfortunately it was by a family in a
station wagon. The father got out of the car and made his wife and four young
children stay inside. He picked up the tattered remains of my dress and covered
my exposed body, making me more presentable. I thanked him, but he couldn’t
hear me.

I thought of my parents
and how they were going to get the news. I hadn’t seen them in close to two
years since I ran away from home. I did what I had to do to get by and I’m not
ashamed of it. I had permanently disqualified myself from the Church of Latter
Day Saints and couldn’t be happier.

Hours later our little
patch on the side of the highway was a full blown crime scene. A news crew
drove up from Phoenix to do a story on the latest victim of the sixties
counterculture. How I was just one of many beautiful girls who lived fast and
died young. I tried to rip the microphone from the dude’s hand and tell him
that no one deserved to die the way I did. It wasn’t my fault. My efforts to be
seen or heard were futile. I was forced to helplessly stand by as I was made
into an example.

The family was
interviewed by police, by the media and then by the police again. When they
were dismissed the father looked like he had aged ten years. Bags had formed
under his eyes and a frown dragged his face down like Droopy Dog. He was
probably thinking of his own daughter. As the station wagon pulled away, the
youngest child, a boy with the biggest dark blue eyes I had ever seen, waved at
us. Juanita and I reflexively raised our arms and waved back. The boy smiled
and waved one more time before turning around to sit facing forward.

“Juanita, I understand
I’m invisible. I mean, I had a fucking Mustang drive through me, but that kid
saw us didn’t he?”

“I believe he did.” Lawrence answered. I hadn’t seen him join us. We all stared after the station wagon until
the taillights disappeared.

“Far out! So other people
might be able to see us?”

“I don’t know, I guess
it’s possible. We’ve never had that happen before,” he said.

“Good, let’s find someone
who can see and hear us. I memorized the license plate of the van those men
were driving. They can’t get away with what they did to Georgia,” Frank said. He pulsed and flickered with intensity, unlike the others.

“Hey man, I appreciate
your thoughtfulness, but how are we going to find someone?”

Turns out we only had to
wait eight years, which really isn’t that long when you have eternity
stretching out ahead of you. Unfortunately, when that someone who could see us
arrived, it didn’t turn out quite as we hoped.