The Bad Lady (Novel) (10 page)

I was sick and tired of hearing my mother talk like that. If she wasn’t overusing the word ‘filthy’ she was overusing the word ‘sinner’ or ‘sinners‘, whatever. In fact, at that instant I suspected that it might have been the bad lady speaking. That’s right. I think the bad lady, at this particular moment, might have taken over my mom’s mind. Pushed her normal personality aside.

“Hey, c’mon now, Bridgette,” Rudy says. “Where’s the woman I fell in love with?” He tried to kiss her on the mouth. My mother hastily turned her head, supplying me with further proof that it had to be the bad lady. The bad lady did not like to be kissed. “Babe, I wish I could comfort you more. I really do. It’s just that this situation is like snow in the summertime, it totally boggles the mind.”

“Well, at least I appreciate you giving me a shoulder to cry on,” she said with her jaw now firmly clinched, just in case he tried to plant another sympathetic smooch on her lips.

“Bridgette, are you gonna be okay today?”

She nodded. “Yes. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“I am worried about you.”

“Don’t be. Just go to the garage and repair that engine, or whatever it is you said that you had to do.”

Rudy stood up and stared at her long and hard. A smidgen of gray showed in the stubble on his face. “I could always call out sick?”

“No. Go to work.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive. I‘ve decided that I need to be alone for a while. As you know, there‘s a lot of things I need to think about.”

“Well, maybe after you call the child abuse hotline,” he suggested, “and drive down to the police station to press charges against Nancy Sutcliffe, you should go back to bed for a couple more hours.” Rudy also had coffee. He tossed down one last speedy mouthful and then set the mug down on the porch.

“I might do that.”

“You should Bridgette. You’re exhausted. I’ll get a hold of you on my lunch break, at about noon.” He hurried down the driveway to his truck.

“Okay.”

“I love you,” Rudy hollered devotedly from the window on the driver‘s side. “See ya, honey muffin.”

Scowling, the bad lady said nothing in response to that. Why should she? She did not like to show love. And, if I had to speculate, she probably also despised being called ‘honey muffin’.

CHAPTER 14

I rushed back to the kitchen. I timed it so that when my mom entered the setting, it would seem as if I had walked in the kitchen at the same moment.

“Good morning, Billy,” my mother says, heading over to the gas stove.

“Good morning.” I rubbed my eyes. I wanted her to think that I had just climbed out of bed. I always rubbed my eyes when I first woke up. I suppose it was a kid thing.

My mother put her and Rudy‘s empty coffee cups in the sink. “So,” she says, “what do you think?”

“About what?”

“The air conditioner.”

“Oh.” I nodded my head and smiled. “I’m happy. Where’d you get that?”

“Rudy brought it over. There’s an air conditioner in my room too.”

“Is he the one who put that in my window?” I asked, as I sat down at the table. The legs of the chair screeched against the recently waxed tile floor. “Or did you do it?”

“Rudy put it in. Last night. I’m surprised we didn’t wake you.”

“Me too. I didn’t hear a thing. I must have been pretty tired.” I was comforted to see that my mom had returned. Evidently, the bad lady had gone back into seclusion. Nevertheless, I still had to be on the look out; she could return at any given minute.

What I had tried to explain to you before was, sometimes, (and yes, I am repeating myself so that you definitely comprehend the situation here) when my mom and the bad lady spoke, they would be two different people, whereas at other times, the bad lady would take over my mom’s personality completely. If that doesn’t make sense to you, don’t worry; just think how I felt. I’m no psychiatric consultant; therefore, I do not know how to portray the psychological condition in technical terms.

“Are you hungry?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I replied. “I’m starved.”

“I made you an omelet.”

“Wow! Neat. So I don‘t have to eat cereal?”

“No. Not today. Aren‘t you lucky.” My mother made an effort to smile, yet failed miserably. She used the spatula to scrape the omelet out of the frying pan. I sat and watched. The omelet came out of the pan without breaking. My mom put my breakfast on a clean plate and, with the salt and peppershaker, carried the meal over to the table and set it down in front of me.

“What kind of omelet is this?” I asked, picking up my fork. It smelled fantastic.

“Bacon and cheese.”

That was good. Unlike her and Rudy, I did not like vegetables. At least not in omelets.

“Did you turn your air conditioner off?” she wanted to know, handing me a napkin.

“No. I didn’t know how to turn it off.”

She went into my room and returned a short moment later.

“Well, it’s off now,” my mom uttered breezily. “I only want the air conditioner on when you’re in the room. We don’t need the electric bill to go through the roof . . . Do you want some toast?”

“Okay.”

“One piece or two?”

“One.”

About two weeks ago, Rudy had come over with a new toaster. We got a lot of use out of it. I admit, that was another positive thing about him, Rudy wasn‘t stingy whatsoever with his money, and being a basic auto mechanic, he didn‘t have much.

The last person my mother had dated, someone named Eric Foster, had been the exact opposite. A penny-pinching white-collar corporate type (I think the huge company Eric worked for, which had buildings in Cleveland, Chicago, Philadelphia, and New York, among others, dealt with stocks or something); he always had a fat pocketful of cash. Yet Eric Foster hardly ever bought my mom or me anything. Only once did I see that cheapskate buy my mother flowers or chocolate, let alone a toaster or jewelry. I was glad Eric Foster did not try to become my new daddy. I couldn’t stand that guy.

Anyway, as I continued to eat my bacon and cheese omelet, I observed my mom grab a loaf of Wonder bread from off of the counter. She undid the plastic bag and then dropped the slice I had requested into the toaster.

I was praying that she wouldn’t bring up Nancy again. It seemed like she wanted to, but was trying hard not to. Whatever was going on with her, I could tell my mother had a lot on her mind; she seemed to be distracted. Lost in thought.

“Mom, can I have some orange juice?”

“It depends on how much we have left,” she replied, opening the fridge. “Tomorrow or the next day we have to go grocery shopping.” She removed the carton.

“Is there any left?” I knew there was, having drank a mouthful of juice when I had first woke up.

“Sure, you’re in luck. There’s plenty left.” She poured me a glass. “What do you want on your toast, butter or jelly?”

“Jelly.”

“Grape, strawberry?”

“Grape.”

She appeared to be somewhat displeased when I abandoned the main course and started to gobble down the toast.

“What’s the matter?” my mother asked, putting the jar of Smuckers back inside the refrigerator. “Don’t you want the rest of your omelet?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna eat it.” Why wouldn’t I? The omelet tasted great.

“Billy, I specifically gave you the toast so that you could eat that after you’re done with your eggs.” Why would I have to wait until after I finished the omelet? Wasn’t the toast part of breakfast?

“Give me that!” With a fast, impulsive hand, she snatched what was left of the jelly treat from my mouth, and put the half-chewed piece of toast on a separate dish. That made me uneasy. Her ripping the toast from my lips like that, created a tsunami of tension.

Nevertheless, just then, the mood changed quickly, when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

A few seconds elapsed off the clock. “Who is it?” I question.

“I don’t know.” Frowning, my mother gazed skeptically at the receiver. “Hello.”

“They’re not saying anything?”

“No. All I hear is the sound of someone breathing . . . Is there anyone there?”

More seconds ticked by.

“They’re still not saying anything?”

“Nope.” Confused and agitated, she hung up.

True to form, I couldn’t help but speculate whether or not that might have been Nancy. I was thinking that maybe she might have wanted to set things right. That perhaps, last night, like my mom, she had done a lot of thinking. Who knows, maybe Nancy had gotten drunk as well. If she did, it wouldn’t surprise me. In many movies, it often seemed to me that adults with serious problems to contend with liked to hit the bottle and chain-smoke cigarettes.

“Whoever it was,” my mother explained, “they blocked there number. Nothing came up on caller I.D.”

“Maybe it was Rudy.”

“No. Rudy wouldn’t block his number. It was a crank call.”

“Oh.” I could tell that she too suspected that it might have been Nancy. The distrustful glare in her eyes made that apparent.

On the counter, beside the toaster that Rudy had bought us, there was a Sony boom box. My mom clicked it on. Right away, we heard the local weatherman say that it would be another hot day in Ohio, sunny, that sweaty heat again. On days like this, I wished we had a swimming pool. I was thankful that we now had the air conditioners, yet a dunk in a pool would have been heaven.

“No way, it’s gonna be ninety degrees this afternoon again,” my mom grumbles, using a placemat to fan herself. “When on earth is it going to rain to get rid of some of this oppressive humidity?”

“I don’t know,” I said, sipping my orange juice.

She began to polish the counter with a wet sponge. “It hasn’t rained in almost two damn weeks. You see the grass out front. It’s turning brown.” That was definitely true. The lawn, due to the dry, desert-like weather of late, had in certain sections, become as bronzed as hay.

“Do you want me to turn the sprinkler on?”

“No. We’re not allowed to use the water today. Town restriction.”

“Oh.”

All of a sudden, from outside, I heard a piercing meow. I knew what it was. A bunch of stray cats often wandered up and down the street, sneaking through people‘s smelly garbage cans. A few of the cats were kittens. Earlier in the week, I had asked my mother if I could please take one in; give the kitten a home. As of yet, she had not given me a definitive ’yes or no’ answer. She had informed me that she would have to think about it.

To try to get her mind off Nancy; I figured I would bring this up now.

“Did you hear that?” I asked, putting an abrupt note of happiness in my voice.

“Hear what?” She turned the radio down. The weather report had given way to Fleetwood Mac‘s classic hit song, Dreams.

“It’s those kittens,” I said, “that keep coming up to the porch, looking for food.” For days, I had been feeding the kittens Bumble Bee tuna and tiny scraps of ham and salami, meant for sandwiches.

“What about them?” my mom asked. “The kittens are outside now?”

“I’m pretty sure they are.” I got up and peeked out the screen door. “Yup. There’s two of them out there. Can I give them some milk?”

“Okay.” She opened the cabinet and found a bowl. “But first, Billy, finish your breakfast. And I don’t want you near the street. You hear me?” Of course, she feared that the Good Humor truck might drive past. “You stay in the yard.”

“I will.” When I was through with my omelet, toast, and juice, I took the bowl of milk out to the porch. The two kittens, one was black and the other was ginger with stripes like a tiger, purred cutely and then chafed lovingly against my ankles.

“Billy, I’m not kidding around,” my mother warned again, now staring at me as I put the dish down on the cement. “I don’t even want to see you near the end of the driveway. In fact, I don’t even want you to leave the porch.”

I shook my head and frowned; as I watched, the kittens dip their miniature heads into the basin, and bravely begin to lap up the cold nourishment. I emphasize bravely because I think the cats sensed my mother’s agitation. “Mom, Nancy Sutcliffe doesn’t even work today,” I made known, wishing she would stop being so strict.

“She doesn’t?” My mom came outside, put her hands on her hips. “How do you know that?”

“Cause she told me.”

“What did she say?”

“She said that she won’t be back to driving the ice cream truck until tomorrow. Nancy was gonna pick me up.” Suddenly it dawned on me that that was an utterly stupid thing to say. At that moment, if my foot could fit in my mouth I would have shoved it in.

Right away, my mom’s relatively calm disposition went into a turbulent tailspin. “She really said that, huh, that she would pick you up?”

I hesitated.

“I’m talking to you, Billy; I asked if that was what she really said, that she would pick you up today?”

“Yes,” I responded fearfully.

“Nancy Sutcliffe specifically said that she was going to pick you up here tomorrow, at the house?”

I nodded; still I crouched down on my knees, petting the purring kittens. “Uh huh.”

“That’s just wonderful. What was that fucking pervert planning to do, pull up and beep the horn, and wait for you to come outside, as if you were her f-ing date? As if you were a twenty-five or thirty-year old man?”

I quivered, knowing that my mother had now been taken over by the bad lady. There was no doubt about that. The bad lady had simply shoved my mother‘s normal personality aside, like someone offensively pushing another person out of line at a store, or someone waiting in line for concerts tickets, etc., so that they could cut in front of them.

“No.”

“No what?” the bad lady snapped. “Nancy Slutttt cliffffe wasn’t planning to beep the horn?” She addressed me the way a hardhearted military sergeant might address a new recruit.

I could not help but become upset. My cautious voice cracked with emotion. “No! She never said anything about coming over here and beeping the horn. She wouldn’t do that. She never does. Never! Nancy just said that she would be back to work tomorrow and that, if I felt like hanging out with her, I should look for the ice cream truck then.”