The Bad Lady (Novel) (9 page)

“Bridgette?”

No noise.

“Oh. There you are,” I heard Rudy say. “What are you doing?”

“Chopping vegetables.” All of a sudden, the racket of a knife began to go tap, tap, tap, like a woodpecker, on the cutting board.

“You’re chopping vegetables now, at ten o‘clock at night?”

“Yes,” my mother answered strangely.

“For what?”

“Tomorrow’s breakfast. I‘m cooking omelets.”

“Were you just on the phone?”

“I was.”

“Who were you talking to?”

“Her.” My mom’s voice sounded out of character. It wasn’t the bad lady speaking, her voice just sounded different. Sort of zombie-like, as if she were in a trance. I don’t know of any other way to explain it. I’m fairly certain that Rudy noticed the same thing I did.

“Bridgette, what did you think you would possibly resolve by calling that woman on the phone again?”

The knife slammed down hard against the cutting board. Whack! “Apparently nothing.”

“The way I see it,” Rudy says. “You either need to go to the police and press charges against this woman, or call the child abuse hotline and find out what they suggest you should do. Because other than that, I‘m just as confused as you are in terms of what can possibly be done here.”

“I‘m considering doing that,” my mother explained. “Although I‘m leaning more toward contacting the child abuse hotline.”

“You should. Do you want me to call information and get you the number?”

“Not yet. I’ll do that tomorrow. Let Billy sleep for now. Plus, I need time to calm down, to pull myself together. I‘m too drunk.”

“Drunk? How many drinks have you had?”

“I don’t remember. I lost count.”

“Babe, what were you drinking other than Jack Daniel’s?”

“Vodka.”

“Straight?”

“Yes. That’s what I started with.”

“I understand. Anyway Bridgette, what did the woman who drives the ice cream truck say this time?”

“It was the same scenario,” my mother explained irritably. “She flat-out denied everything.”

Rudy coughed, and hacked. Not surprising. He coughed and hacked all the time on account of his, two packs a day smoking habit. “It figures. What do you expect her to say? It’s not as if she would actually admit to doing anything.”

“Of course not.”

“Seriously Bridgette, even though I know it’s late and you said you’ve had a few drinks, I think you should notify the police. I mean, instead of waiting until tomorrow, notify them right now.”

“Why?” she says. “And waste my time? I told you, they‘d never believe a ten-year old. All the cops will do is tell me to keep my kid away from the filthy whore. Besides, if I press charges I‘m going to have to go down to the station and probably have to fill out a long report. I can‘t do that now, because even if you drove me down there, I still have Billy to worry about. Like I said, I want to let him sleep.”

“All right. Then go down to the cop station tomorrow.”

“I will. Even though I’m not confident at all that they’ll be able to do anything.”

The more I listened to the way my mom was talking, with such blatant pessimism, the more it became clear to me that she definitely must have had more to drink than just the one small glass of whiskey I had seen her sipping on the front porch.

“What about a lawyer?”

“Rudy, you watch too much stupid TV. Without proof, there’s nothing an attorney or the police could do. I don’t think I need to keep repeating that. That’s why I’m so infuriated.”

“Babe, do you want me to spend the night, keep you company?”

“You can stay if you want,” my mother said, while still chopping vegetables.

“Okay. I’ll stay,” Rudy tells her. “But remember I have to leave for work early in the morning.”

“What time?”

“I’m supposed to be at the garbage in between seven-thirty and eight. I have to repair and engine by noon.”

“Rudy thanks.”

“I love you honey muffin.”

“I love you too.”

They probably kissed and hugged. Yeah. I could picture it. My mother and Rudy were always doing that, always necking like love struck teenagers. I swear it was so corny. Then again, at least Rudy Knorr wasn’t a phony like some of the other men that my mom, over the years, had dated. I never liked any of those other guys. They never gave a damn about me either. Not at all. They were just like the father that I never knew, selfish. Yeah, that’s the word I‘m looking for, selfish. They only cared about themselves.

“As soon as we wake up I’ll make you your favorite omelet. Cheese, bacon, tomatoes, onion, and peppers.”

“Can’t wait.”

“So that extension cord you brought in is long enough?”

“Definitely. It’s at least fifty feet.”

Rudy returned to my room, hooked up the extension cord, turned the air conditioner on. The portable machine in my window, which droned softly, took a minute or so before it commenced to pump out cool refreshing air.

Although my mom and I, this evening, would not have to toss and turn in the abysmal heat, I heard her sigh for like the hundredth time, and from the corner of my eye, I detected her standing in the entryway with her arms crossed, shaking her head. Then I popped my other eye open and glimpsed at Rudy.

“Perfect,” he says, holding his rugged hands over the vent. “This air conditioner works as decent as the other one. It’s a little bit of an older model so I wasn’t sure if it would or not.”

“Great. Do you want me to mix you a drink?”

“What’d you have in mind?”

“Jack and Coke. That‘s what I‘m gonna have.”

“All right. But only one. Like I said, I have to be up early. And Bridgette, you should probably make that your last drink as well.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to mix this last drink in a bigger glass,” she offered sarcastically.

I was tremendously relieved that they had finally exited my room and had closed the door; I did not know how much longer I could possibly lay there without moving. My legs had started to cramp.

CHAPTER 12

Despite the fact that my mother and Rudy had gone back outside to the porch to enjoy their Jack and Cokes, and listen to the crickets, I had made up my mind that I was finished spying for the evening.

With the air conditioner now propelling refrigerated ventilation into my dark, quiet room, I thought I might be able to sleep for real. However, it did not take long for me to find out that I could not, at least not peacefully.

Here’s why.

While mesmerized by the continuous drone of the air conditioner, I floated into what I can only describe as the strangest nightmare I had ever had in my life. In the dream there were evil circus clowns laughing at me uncontrollably, calling me childish names like ’Naked Boy’, and ‘Suntan Lotion Kid’.

The clowns, there were four of them, had yanked off my shirt, shorts, underwear, and sneakers. This was a sick game to them. The clowns were harassing me to no end.

“Naked boy,” the one who seemed to be the head clown taunted. Since she, yes it was definitely a she, had no name, I’ll refer to her as Bozo. She looked like Bozo anyway, with the Chia Pet orange hair, the big red nose, the smirking red lips. The weird outfit with the colorful frilly thing around her neck and the fuzzy round buttons running down the front of the clown suit. The oversized rubber feet. “Be careful of the sun, you silly little thing, you don’t want to get burned. No. Especially when you have such nice young skin.”

“Give him the lotion,” another sinister clown mocked, while laughing so loud that it seemed to echo a hundred miles away. This particular clown was male and reminded me of the serial killer John Wayne Gacy. “That’s why we call, Billy, The Suntan Lotion Kid. Right? Because he loves to rub it on.”

“Do you want to rub it on, Billy?”

The two clowns who had yet to speak burst into hysterics.

“You know he does.”

“C’mon Billy, Take the lotion and rub it on.”

“Get away from me,” I said, backing up.

“Oh no. Are you afraid?”

“Nah. The Suntan Lotion Kid isn’t afraid of anything,” the Gacy clown teases.

This was mad. Sheer madness.

I urgently wanted to put my clothes and shoes back on because, in this terrifying dream, I was out in public, in the middle of the street somewhere, in a suburb like Hampton, Ohio but not exactly. Overhead, the otherworldly sun, shun as bright as a spotlight, giving me nowhere to hide.

With one hand, I immediately tried to cover up my penis, and with my other hand, my nude caboose. I did this, as, with petrified eyes, I frantically searched the unidentified road for my clothing.

Suddenly I spotted them.

My clothes were lying on someone’s lawn, in a wrinkled heap, near a fire hydrant. With my hands still concealing my privates, I made a quick dash for them.

No dice! The clowns stopped me.

The giggling, red-nosed freaks had my garments now, and had formed a circle around me. They were playing keep away. Each time I would try to grab my shorts, shirt, and underwear, the menacing, grinning faces would toss my clothing up into the air; and my shorts, shirt, and underwear would fall into the awaiting hands of another ball-busting joker. These horrible clowns were unmistakably getting off on torturing me.

“Let me see your pee pee,” the female Bozo said, while standing directly in front of me. “Take your hand away, Billy. You can trust me. I want to see your pee pee. Please!”

“Go away!”

“Not until you show me what‘s behind your hand.”

Meanwhile, in this nightmare there were cars driving up and down the cartoon-like street, with motorists looking at me in shock, pointing their fingers, saying things like, “Hey kid, where on earth are your clothes?” or “For Christ sakes, young man, put your pants back on.”

***

A year or so later, I would learn that that disturbing dream had no doubt been symbolic to me having been molested.

The connection being, from a subconscious point of view, the Good Humor truck conveyed a circus vibe.

You had, on the truck itself, the bright showy colors, the carnival-like music, and the fact that the Good Humor truck, for the most part, sold ice cream to mainly children, which one could easily associate with a circus, since children are their main fan base.

For that reason, I had hallucinated seeing those clowns.

Those hideous, menacing clowns.

CHAPTER 13

Early in the morning, at fifteen minutes to eight, I awoke in a freezing sweat, and my head felt woozy. The air conditioner made my room so chilly that I did not want to roll out of my warm blankets.

When I opened my lethargic eyes, I was temporarily blinded by the dazzling sunlight streaming in the window, not the window with the air conditioner in it, the other window.

As I sat up, casually pushing my covers away, I thought, in my mind, that I could still hear the evil circus clowns teasing me about the suntan lotion. Ha! Ha! Ha! Thankfully, when I looked down, I saw that I had my pajamas on.

Of course, wanting to quickly escape the remnants of that creepy nightmare, I stood up, pushed my bedroom door open, and then stepped into the hallway.

I knew my mother must have already cooked breakfast, I could smell eggs and bacon. My hungry stomach instantly growled. Eggs, bacon, omelet’s, whatever, that was much better than what I normally ate, cold cereal. Cheerios or Raisin Bran.

I slithered into the kitchen, expecting my mom and Rudy to be sitting at the table eating, and sipping hot, freshly brewed coffee, but they were not there.

I inspected the sink and right away noticed their dirty dishes, the plates stained with tiny scraps of egg and leftover pieces of buttered toast. On the stove, in a nonstick frying pan, there was another omelet, which I assumed must have been for me. The spatula lay beside the pan on the counter.

After opening the refrigerator and chugging a big mouthful of Tropicana orange juice straight from the container, I wandered over to the front door and glanced outside. There they were, my mother and Rudy, parked on the porch once more, just like they had been the night before, chatting.

Wanting to say good morning before Rudy left for work (he already had his mechanic’s outfit on), I was about to step out there when I overheard, yet again, that they were discussing me and Nancy.

“I told you,” my mom was saying, “I made Billy brush his teeth until his gums bled. I don’t know what I’ll do if he catches a sexually transmitted disease. Who knows what kind of lewd individuals that slut has been with?” My mother had her robe on. Underneath her eyes there were black circles; I doubt she had slept at all. She greedily gulped her cup of hot coffee.

“Bridgette, I wouldn’t worry about that. The odds of your son catching a disease due to that are probably slim to none.”

“Hah!” She scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “That Good Humor whore had Billy perform oral sex on her; he could catch something from doing that? I swear Rudy, I am so livid, I don‘t even know what to do with my thoughts. In fact, to be honest with you, I feel like I might have a nervous breakdown.”

In the future when I would flash back to this moment, I would think, ‘why didn’t my mom, if she had been so worried that I might catch a sexually transmitted disease, take me to the hospital to have me checked out‘? They could have done a blood test. Why she chose not to do that I might never know.

Perhaps it had simply come down to she had been far too upset, and not in her right mind, to take what many other parents might have likely considered the only logical course of action.

“I understand,” Rudy tells her. “Any rational parent would feel the same way.”

“I love my son. Billy is all I have.”

“What about me?”

“You know what I mean. Maybe it’ll work out between us, Rudy, and maybe it won’t. But Billy will always be a part of my life.” My mom gazed at the front yard. A few squirrels searched the grass for seeds or nuts. The leaves of the trees rustled lightly in the balmy morning breeze. Birds sung blissful songs. Up the sunny road, somewhere a motorcycle could be heard. The engine revved. Then the roar faded as the bike took off toward the main highway. “Sinners. They’re everywhere. You can’t raise a child in this world without exposing that kid to sinners. They’re in every neighborhood. On every street corner.”