Mama's Boy and Other Dark Tales (20 page)

"When I released her, she slipped and fell backward into the bagel bin. Bagels flew everywhere. Looking dazed, she gripped the counter to steady herself and just stared after me as I waved goodbye."

Unconscious of her actions, Rebecca glared at Frank as he rested his clay-covered hands on the edge of the table. She was speechless, her knuckles white from a death grip on her pen. Her notepad remained empty. Frank smirked at her and continued on with his story.

"I admit,” he said, “I wasn't the best looking guy, but Mama helped me accept that reality early in life. ‘Henry, you're one homely boy,’ she'd say, ‘but you know your mama will always love you.’ And she did. When I met Vicki, I was a hundred and sixty pounds, five ten and balding, but I still knew I had a powerful affect on her, as I did with all women. My teeth weren't so good—kinda nasty from a lack of doctorin'—but still women were stunned by my smile. Southern charm, I guess.

"What a nice name—Vicki. Don't you think, Doc?"

There was so much she wanted to say, but Rebecca forced herself to be silent. She simply nodded. Frank turned back to his work, poking his thumbs deep into the clay eye sockets.

"But we had to go with the name ‘Victoria,'” he continued. “I realized the sooner Vicki accepted that name, the sooner she'd be a good bride in Mama's eyes. Mama didn't approve of nicknames."

A sheen of sweat surfaced on Rebecca's face, dampening the black tendrils of hair around her forehead. She rose to switch on the fan, a necessity in the unpredictable heat of the ancient building.

"Please go on, Frank,” she said as she sat back down with forced calm. “Your account is ... fascinating."

"Well, Mama was miffed when I got back to the taxi. ‘What in god's name were you doing in there, boy?’ she said. ‘You know my head's splittin’ out here, but do you care that I'm sufferin'? Of course not! You don't think of nobody but yourself.'

"I saw the driver scowling at me in his mirror, but he glanced away when I noticed.

"'Here's your aspirin, Mama,’ I said, handing her the bottle.

"'Where's the water, Henry? You expect me to take them damn pills dry? They'll scratch my throat raw.’”

Frank's imitation of his mother's voice was eerie, and Rebecca felt a shiver slip along her back.

"'Sorry, Mama,'” he went on. “'I'll go back and get your water.'

"'No, I can't wait no more,’ she said. ‘God only knows how long you'd dawdle around in there. Give me some of your coffee.'

"'But you don't like coffee, Mama. Let me go get you some water.'

"'No, goddamn it! Give me the coffee and open this godforsaken bottle. Can't no normal people open these damn things.’ I handed her my coffee and opened the bottle. ‘Give me three!’ she said. She took the pills and slurped the coffee. Screwing up her face, she said, ‘I don't know how in hell you drink this slop.’ She shoved the coffee cup back at me, but I couldn't bring myself to drink after her and her ugly lipstick smear, so I stuck it in the cup holder and tried to ignore the red stain.

"The cabbie was getting impatient. ‘Have you folks decided where you're going yet?'

"'We need to get out to Blue Bell,’ I said.

"'Well, that'd cost you a pretty penny for me to drive you out there, and the thing is, buddy, it's getting near the end of my shift. You'd be better off renting a car, if you asked me.'

"Mama grumbled, ‘So who asked you?'

"The driver looked at me in his mirror and raised an eyebrow.

"'How about you take us to the nearest car rental place? Thanks for the tip,’ I said.

"The cabbie edged into the rush hour traffic without another word. I glanced down, and there it was again: the red stain of old lady lipstick on the lid of my coffee. The sight of it turned my stomach, and my mind flashed to the first time I ever saw that stain up close."

Rebecca remained quiet. Listening to Frank's story, she reminded herself to breathe. Even with all her training, the account was excruciating to witness, but she didn't dare interrupt as Frank's memories continued their rush to the surface. Her years of work were finally paying off, but all her preparations didn't lessen the impact. Forcing herself to relax, she listened as Frank continued.

"I saw it on my first day of fourth grade. It had been a good day,” Frank recalled. “We were still living with my daddy back then, in a nice little house in a nice little neighborhood. There were always lots of kids around, and I raced home from school so I could go back out to play before dinner.

"In September it was still hot in Texas, and when I ran into the house, I saw Mama in front of the oscillating fan. She was slumped on the sofa with her dress hiked up above her bare knees, and her long red hair lifted as the air blew around her. Her eyes were shut, and I thought she was sleeping. She didn't like being disturbed during her naps, so I tiptoed by. Just as I thought I was clear, she reached out and grabbed me by the arm.

"'Where do you think you're goin'?’ she hissed.

"As she turned toward me, I could see her eyes were red and puffy and her cheeks were wet. I smelled the stink of liquor on her breath as she hauled me closer. I stayed quiet—I had learned the hard way that it was better not to speak when Mama had been drinking. But I could tell something bad had happened. She looked more miserable than drunk. Digging her nails into my arm, she said, ‘I asked you a question, boy. I know you're dumber than a board, but are you deaf, too?'

"I bowed my head. ‘No, Mama.'

"'Well, I'm sick of you. You hear me? I'm sick of the whole damn lot of you!'

"I stayed quiet and kept my head down.

"'Look at me when I talk to you!'

"She hauled herself upright on the sofa, grabbed both my arms and pulled me between her knees, forcing me to face her. The smell of the alcohol burned my nose, and I must have made a face. That's when she slapped me—hard. My head swam, and I could feel a trickle of blood seeping from my throbbing lip. I didn't dare touch it, and I knew I didn't dare pass out. I gritted my teeth and tried to look at her without looking into her eyes.

"'Pathetic! All men are pathetic. Especially that filthy excuse for a father of yours. Taking the word of a stinkin’ neighbor boy over his own wife.'

"I tried hard to wait out the storm, but the blow to my face had rattled my head so hard that I began to swoon.

"Mama shook me. ‘Stand up, you lazy sack of shit!’ I slipped from her grip and crumpled to the floor.

"As I came to, I could feel cold pressure on my mouth, and I opened my eyes to the pain in my head and the cut on my busted lip. My mama was kneeling beside me with a bag of ice on my mouth, stroking the sweaty hair back from my forehead.

"'I'm so sorry, baby. Mama didn't mean to hurt you so bad,’ she said. ‘It's just that your daddy doesn't understand my needs. He said he'd leave us, if I didn't stop. You love me, don't you, Henry?'

"She removed the ice pack and pressed her red lips against my mouth. She held me there, hot breath spilling out of her nose until finally she moved away with a dreamy look in her eyes. She was waiting for my answer.

"'Yes, Mama,’ I said feeling strange. ‘I love you.'

"Still inches from my face, she stared into my eyes. ‘I can't have your little friends come and visit with me no more, Henry.’ I didn't know they had visited her. ‘But they liked our visits—and the special lovin’ I gave them.'

"Mama kissed me again and she started to rub my belly. I felt afraid, but not like usual when I knew I was going to get whipped. She moved her lips close to my ear; I could smell her stale perfume and sweat.

"'You don't want your daddy to go away, do you, Henry?’ she whispered.

"I started to feel panicky. ‘No, Mama,’ I whispered back.

"'Good boy,’ she said, her lips brushing my ear, her breathing husky. ‘Then I can save all my special lovin’ just for you.’ She kissed me hard on the mouth and slid her warm fingers from my belly down inside my trousers. I felt nauseated and confused—my lip ached, and Mama's rubbing felt good and bad all at the same time.

"Then she stopped. She pulled away quickly and looked me hard in the eye. ‘But you can't never tell your daddy about this. He'll leave us if you do. You hear me?'

"With tears in my eyes, I nodded, ‘Yes, Mama.'

"She put the ice back on my lip and set off for the kitchen as if nothing had happened. ‘Your daddy will be back soon, so I need to start supper. Go on and clean yourself up. You look like shit.'

"I stayed there on the sofa for a minute. I didn't know what had just happened—all I knew was that my head hurt, my lip ached, and my penis was hard.

"'What did I just tell you, boy? Get up before your daddy comes home and finds you like that. Didn't you hear a thing I told you?’ She shook her head in disgust. ‘Pathetic.'

"I got up, staggering as I walked, but I made it to the bathroom before I vomited. I wiped my mouth on one of Mama's white towels, and that's when I saw the dark red lipstick mixed with my blood. My stomach heaved again. When the retching finally stopped, I looked in the mirror and saw the sticky red stain still smudged across my mouth. What if my daddy saw it? I scrubbed my face and rubbed so hard with the towel that my skin was nearly raw. There was still some red around my swollen mouth but if Daddy asked, I could say I had fallen and busted my lip.

"I knew Mama would kill me if she saw that I had ruined one of her towels, so I bunched it up under my shirt, ran to my room and hid it in the back of my closet behind the toy chest. I was nine, and somehow I knew I wouldn't be playing with those toys much anymore."

Frank's hands were idle against the clay. He stared at the empty eyes of his sculpture, his face wet with tears..

"Henry? Did you say your name is Henry?” Rebecca had restrained herself from interrupting earlier, and now she forced her back straight against the chair, struggling to maintain her professional composure.

The man looked up in shock. “Oh, God! You won't tell anyone, will you?” he said.

Stalling, Rebecca glanced at the ceiling and tapped her pen on her notebook.

"Hmm ... how about I make a deal with you, Henry? You tell me more about your father, and I won't tell anyone about your name."

Still looking shaken, he wiped his wet eyes with the back of his hand, and considered the deal. “Promise you won't tell?"

"Yes, Henry. Your secret is safe with me,” she said, with a benign smile. “Please, go on with your story, but remember our deal."

Henry nodded like a petulant child caught in a lie, then he snatched the bottle from the table and sprayed the hollow sockets of the clay eyes. Rebecca noticed that his face relaxed like magic as his hands caressed the moistened clay. He went on with his story.

"Back in Philadelphia, our cabbie pulled away from the convenience store right into a heap of traffic. After twenty minutes of horn blaring and a few choice gestures by our driver, we pulled into the Broad Street Rent-O-Wreck. Leaving Mama in the taxi, I climbed out while she ranted on about the shabby establishment we'd been brought to. I closed the car door behind me, but I could see Mama's mouth still going. The cabbie frowned at me with his heavy eyebrows as I headed for the rental office.

"'It's late in the day, son, but I think I can find something for you,’ said the old man at the rental counter. His shirt was wrinkled and his clip-on tie was twisted. I was a sight myself after all the traveling. I wore my favorite black Zeppelin T-shirt with the silver blimp on the back, my best Wranglers, and my big Texas Son belt buckle. By that time, I was sweaty, tired, and ready for a beer, but of course I never drank in front of Mama—she didn't approve.

"After signing some paperwork and haggling about not having a credit card, the old man settled on a fifty for his troubles. I smiled and thanked him. He pocketed the cash, fished around in a drawer behind the counter, and brought out a set of keys on a battered Rent-O-Wreck key chain.

"'Come on. This way, son. I'll show you to your chariot.’ I followed the old man out into the afternoon heat and around the side of the building where a beat up cargo van was parked.

"'There you go.’ He handed me the keys. ‘Not much to look at, but she runs good, and the A/C works.'

"Sure enough, the old white Ford started right up, and she ran like a top. I drove around the building and saw that the cabbie was leaning against the outside of the car. His arms were crossed and he had a sour look on his face. I watched Mama's expression through the taxi window when she saw the van. You didn't have to be a lip reader to figure out what she was saying.

"I transferred the bags and Mama to the van. I strapped her in the front seat, all the while trying to calm her down. ‘It runs fine, Mama.’ ‘Don't worry, the wheels are not going to fall off.’ ‘Mama, it is not a death trap.’ I paid the taxi driver, who snatched the cash from my hand, slammed the door of his taxi, and sped away faster than a bat outta hell.

"While Mama fussed, I looked at the map. Once I sorted out how to get to Blue Bell, we set off and I made my way through the downtown traffic. When we hit the highway, Mama finally quieted down and fell asleep. I began to wonder what the Rutt Estate would look like. When the letter came about the inheritance, Mama seemed shocked. I asked her about Daddy's family, but she ignored me. I pressed her on it, and she grumbled something about the Rutts’ disapproval of my daddy's choices, but she refused to say anything more.

"The thought of having a permanent home was tempting. We hadn't lived in one place for very long since I was thirteen—after Daddy's death. I loved Mama, but I sure missed Daddy. He was a police detective, and he loved telling me stories about cases he worked on, especially how he figured out crimes with the smallest clues. He was proud of what he did, and I was proud of him, too.

"Daddy loved his work. He even did some private investigator's work on the side. Sometimes he'd take me with him on stakeouts. Nothing dangerous, just stuff like watching a door to see who went in and out. It was mostly boring, but I loved being there with my daddy."

Henry gazed down at the clay, then out the office window. Sullen, he lowered his eyes and looked at his slick mud-covered hands.