Mommy, May I? (7 page)

“Oh honey, yours are great. You don’t need a boob job. Does she, Robin?”

“I’m not looking,” Robin Quivers replied.

“Sex sells,” Claire muttered. That reason alone justified her being entertained by Hollywood’s latest queen of flamboyance. Hell, if the scoop about Helena didn’t pan out, Leeza herself was good for an exposé. Rumor had it—and Claire was sure Leeza would confirm it—that the new divorcée had agreed to do a spread in
Playboy
. That would spin a few people out of control, and knowing Leeza, that’s exactly what she had in mind. She loved pushing people’s buttons, especially if those buttons belonged to her ex and his ex-lover. And all Claire had to do was get the scoop while it was juicy, write it down, make it flow, and it would be printed in thousands of papers around the country.

Claire picked up last week’s copy of
The Scene
. She loved newspapers—the visual of the black ink against the white background. This paper
was
trash, but it paid the bills.

Claire held the paper to her nose, breathing it in. It no longer had that fresh ink and paper aroma she adored. It was now as stale as yesterday’s news. Was the Helena Shea scandal just as stale? She knew that people loved a real-life soap opera. Maybe Claire could light a fire under her fading serial.

August 1970

Before . . .

The summer flew by for Richard, and his uncle surprised him towards the end of it by taking him into San Francisco for his thirteenth birthday, only an hour’s drive from their small town of Dobson.

Uncle James took him to the marina where they shopped, ate fresh fish, and visited the Ghirardelli chocolate factory. Uncle James let Richard buy whatever he wanted.

At home, Richard hid his chocolates under the bed for fear that Aunt Valerie would trash them. She wasn’t happy about their escapades and really let Uncle James have it.

“That’s no place for the boy!” she’d yelled.

For the first time, Uncle James had stood up to her. “It’s a special birthday for him,” he’d said in a low voice, “and he deserves to go. He’s helped me all summer at work. It’s not like he has any friends to invite over.”

“That’s because he’s weird. I see the way he is. I know. And I don’t care what you say ‘bout him, no amount of prayer will save him. He’s evil, being born out of that whore. He’s got tainted blood.”

“Don’t talk about Elizabeth like that.”

She’d stormed out of the room. It struck Richard as odd, but made him ecstatic, that a simple retort with the mention of his mother’s name could send her away. Uncle James had tossed Richard his jacket and said it was time to go.

Richard took the box of candy from under his bed now. He ate one a day. He was getting low on them, because a week had already passed by since their trip. He popped one with a caramel center into his mouth. It was the best thing he’d ever tasted with all its rich, gooey sweetness.

Life wasn’t so bad in Dobson. He enjoyed working for his Uncle James, but he hated listening to his aunt rave on about how they were all sinners and had to repent. Richard wanted to tell her to shove it up her fat ass. Life would be a heck of a lot better if she’d take a hike.

One evening after supper, Uncle James went to shower, which he never did at night. He was always too tired to do much of anything after work. Richard watched Aunt Valerie pour herself a glass of sherry. Her hands trembled, and she had trouble putting the stopper back into the decanter.

She sat back down in her rocker across from Richard as he watched television. Old witch! She only allowed him to watch an hour a night. Tonight that suited him fine, because he was going to meet with Janie Keaton again. He had friends. Well, he had one friend anyway.

“So, how was work?” Aunt Valerie asked.

“Fine.” Richard tried not to look at her ugly, scowling face. Why was she interested in his day?

“Must’ve got a new one in today, huh Ricky?”

He cringed. Why did she have to call him that? “A new what?”

“Don’t act stupid. A body. A dead woman. A corpse.” She took a long swig of the sherry, and a little dribbled down her chin.

He turned to glare at her, filled with contempt at her tone and the mere fact she would even speak to him. “Yeah, so?”

“Must be a young woman?”

Richard looked back at the TV, desperately trying to tune her out.

“Ricky, I asked you a question.”

“What? Yeah, I guess she was pretty young. Maybe thirty something.”

“How’d she die?”

“Why do you care?”

“Ricky.” She shook a finger at him. “Don’t speak to me in that tone. You know what the good Lord says about respecting your elders. Now by the grace of God, for your sake, we’ve been designated to raise you. God knows, with that whore for your mother, you didn’t stand a chance. You really should be more grateful. I’ve got a right mind to get the rod, teach you a lesson or two.”

Richard started to sweat. He was thankful she had the gout and wouldn’t get up to beat him. She hadn’t hit him in quite some time. He’d recently had a growth spurt and now sensed that she was a bit frightened of him. He liked that. In a low voice that sounded close to a growl he replied, “Please do not refer to my mother like that.” He stood up, feeling heat in his face, his jaw clenched.

He considered shutting her up. There were many ways he could do that. He thought about it quite a bit. His favorite fantasy was simply to take a sharp kitchen knife and slice her open and let her bleed to death—she’d watch as her blood and guts oozed all over her stupid, perfectly cleaned house. Richard would enjoy doing that to Aunt Valerie, and there’d be no way to preserve her. They’d have to cremate her. Aunt Valerie brought this hatred on herself the way she treated him and spoke of his mother.

“Oh,
sorry
.” Her sarcasm didn’t go undetected. “I know how much you loved your dear, departed mommy. Forgive me. You’re exactly like your uncle. I’m surprised you’re not showering, getting ready for a night out on the town.”

Richard clenched his fists, blood rushed through him. Did she know that he was meeting Janie tonight? Was that why she was acting so strange? And why had she said that about his uncle? He never went out at night.

“She must be a special one. I haven’t seen him like this since before you came. It’s been awhile. I thought maybe he’d gotten past it.”

Richard’s mind raced. Her insinuations about his uncle fascinated him, but he refused to give her satisfaction by showing any interest. Besides, Uncle James was way too straight-laced to do anything nutty. He felt his face flush.

He looked back at the clock, almost eight. His aunt would be in bed by nine, but with his uncle going out, it might present a problem. His stomach jumped around making him anxious.

He and Janie had agreed to keep their meetings secret. They always waited until their families were asleep before sneaking out, not too difficult for either of them.

“My parents are drunk by eight,” she’d said one summer day when he’d found her crying down by the river—alone and very upset. Her dad had beaten her mom that morning for not having his breakfast ready. Janie had run out of the house. Richard had sat next to her and they’d skipped stones across the river, marking the start of their summer friendship.

“Excuse me Ricky, but I was speaking to you.”

“Yes.”

“The woman who was brought in today. How’d she die? It couldn’t have been a car wreck, or at least not one that ruined her face.” Spittle flew as she spoke, and Richard sank into the couch, wishing he could disappear.

“Uncle James said something about drugs. I think she must've overdosed.”

“Ah. Okay, well she must be something special all right!” Aunt Valerie slowly got up from her chair and waddled away, bumping against one wall and then the other as she headed down the hall to her room. “Turn off that TV!” she hollered back at him.

Thankful she’d gone to bed, Richard’s only concern was meeting Janie without anyone finding out. Not even his uncle could know. It wasn’t that Uncle James would be angry; Janie insisted on it.

Uncle James came into the family room dressed in a coat and tie, his dark hair slicked back. Richard had never seen him so dressed up. “Wow, where you going?”

“Oh, there’s a funeral director’s convention up north.”

He was glad, because now he wouldn’t have to worry about sneaking in and out.

“What are you smiling at?”

“Nothing. I’m happy you’re getting out of here that’s all. You deserve some time off.”

“I’d love to take you, but with school starting so soon and as early as we rise around here, you need your rest.”

“Hey, no problem. Probably just a bunch of stiffs anyway, huh?”

“Funny guy, aren’t you? Yes, it’ll be a dead crowd.” They both laughed. “Where’s your aunt?”

“I think she went to bed. She was sure acting strange, asking me all sorts of crazy stuff. I think she’s lost her marbles.” Richard tapped the side of his head.

“What’d she say?” Uncle James frowned.

“Well, she was asking about work and the woman who was brought in today.”

“What did you tell her?” Uncle James shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Nothing much. I tried to ignore her, but she kept asking.”

“Don’t worry about it. She’s probably been sipping her sherry again. She’s not much of a drinker—a little goes a long way with her.”

“Right.” Richard looked his uncle up and down again, wondering why he was acting strange, too.

A half-hour later, without a care regarding his aunt or uncle, Richard walked down the gravel road to meet Janie at their hideout, an old shack out in the woods. When he saw her flashlight up ahead, his adrenaline began to pump, making him feel jittery. “Janie?” he called out.

“Hi,” she answered. Richard jogged over to meet her and, laughing together, they collapsed onto the blanket she’d brought. “Hey, look what I’ve got.” She reached into a bag and pulled out a six-pack of beer.

“How’d you manage that?”

“Shoot, my dad’s already passed out in his chair, and my mom’s listening to the Rolling Stones, pretending she’s some rock star.”

“Sounds like your family’s pretty messed up, too. My uncle is cool, but my aunt is a real drag.”

“Hey, no one at school knows about my family. You know, me being a cheerleader and all. They think I have the perfect life, but I got them fooled, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s why I like you. Everyone thinks you’re so weird, and you are,” she said, “but I feel like I can tell you anything.”

Richard smiled. For once, being strange was good. “Are you close to your folks? I mean do you like them?”

“They’re okay. Except when my dad gets mad, you know?” She opened a beer and handed it to Richard, and then took out one for herself. He’d never had any alcohol to drink before. The taste was bitter, but he swallowed it anyway, not wanting Janie to think less of him. His stomach warmed as the liquid fizzed on the way down. When it hit bottom, he belched loudly, and they both cracked up. She drank hers quickly, copying him.

Once they’d calmed down, Janie brought up his family. “What about your mom? I mean, were you close?”

Richard grabbed another beer from the bag. “Yeah, very. I loved my mother more than anything.”

“Wow, so I guess you miss her?”

“Yep. I don’t really want to talk about her, though.” The pain of losing his mother still haunted him. The mention of her, especially by his aunt, pained him. His chest tightened, and he turned away from his friend.

“Hey, no problem. Do you still see your dad?”

“Never knew him.”

“No way.”

“Never.”

“God, that’s crummy. Do you know anything about him?” Richard hesitated here. Anytime he’d told the story about his dad, people laughed. “So? Do you know who your dad is?”

“I never met him. He’s dead too.” Richard decided it was best not to reveal that his father was Mills Florence. He didn’t want anything to threaten their friendship, and if Janie accused him of making up stories, he’d hate that.

“That’s tough.” Janie flipped back her fair hair. Her sweater slipped off her right shoulder; she wore a tube top underneath. Richard couldn’t help noticing her small breasts.

“Well, did you bring the book?”

“You bet.”

She clapped her hands. Richard opened Edgar Allan Poe’s book of short stories. The book was old and the binding loose. Richard treated it with care, knowing how much it meant to his uncle. Tonight they planned on finishing “The Murders in the Rue Morgue.” They’d been reading these stories together by flashlight for the past month. Richard was pleased that Janie liked them as much as he did.

The night creature noises halted and silence descended upon them, almost as if each living thing in the woods had waited for the storytelling to begin as well.

He read the gruesome sections in a scary voice, like Vincent Price. In the other sections, he imitated an Englishman, like his uncle did when he read. Janie listened, her eyes wide as she hugged her knees under her chin.