The Flood Girls (39 page)

B
efore Laverna booked all their rooms, she called Rachel.

They went to Jake's house together, waited for a time they knew Krystal would be home. They hoped both Floods together would be enough of a persuasion.

“He's part of the team,” Laverna explained.

“He's really the heart of our team,” Rachel said. “He's like our good-luck charm.”

Bert, like a wall, shielded their view of the living room, rising up, his face scarlet, upper lip slick with perspiration.

“No,” he said. “Absolutely not.” He reached his arms up and supported himself on the doorframe. “Our debts have been paid in full.”

“Krystal paid her debts,” pointed out Laverna. “You still have a bar tab.”

“I'm not afraid of you, Laverna Flood.” Bert stepped out onto the porch, and Laverna found herself stumbling backward. The heat from Bert was palpable.

“You're done,” he said. “You're done filling my kid's head up with nonsense. We're trying to teach him some humility.”

Rachel peeked around Bert. Laverna was impressed that her daughter was so fearless, but she knew her attachment to Jake was a deep, unexplainable thing. Laverna could see Krystal on the couch, the baby on her lap.

“Krystal,” said Rachel. “You know this is ridiculous.” Laverna pulled Rachel back as she pled, as Bert began to clear his throat, a sound that could have been mistaken for a growl.

Bert took another step forward, and Laverna stood in front of her daughter. Bert would not dare strike Laverna Flood. She waited for Krystal to respond, barely visible in the darkened living room and the shadow of her husband.

Krystal refused to look at them. Meekly, she pulled the baby tighter and spoke through the blanket, her voice muffled, but the words rang out clear enough. “I don't think so,” she said. “And I would prefer it if he didn't know it was an option. I don't want to feel guilty.”

“See?” Laverna protested. “You know how much this would mean to him.”

“The answer is no.” Bert's face was a flame, and fittingly, he grabbed a piece of kindling from the pile beside the door. He pointed the splintered piece of wood at Laverna's chest. “We're trying to spend more time together as a family.”

“Jesus,” Laverna had said.

“Watch it.” Bert snapped the piece of kindling in half. Laverna flinched at the crack. “We're circling the wagons.”

“I know an Indian,” said Laverna, and before she could lie and insist that Ronda was handy with a bow and arrow, Bert shut the door.

The Flood Girls took four vehicles to Missoula, mostly because Diane and Rachel had overpacked. Laverna reserved a block of rooms at the Thunderbird Motel, including one for Bucky, even though he did not umpire at this level. He tried to pay Laverna for his room, but she wouldn't hear of it. Laverna trusted Bucky with Frank, and hoped he would help keep the girls in line.

At seven, Athena knocked on Laverna's hotel room door. Laverna couldn't fathom how this woman could have possibly saved her daughter's life. Athena wore a black dress, and between the enormous breasts hung ropes upon ropes of necklaces. The dress was empire-waisted, the skirt full and dangling with ribbons. She looked like a fat wife of a medieval king.

“Aren't you hot?”

“You must be Laverna,” Athena said, and pulled her into a hug.

Laverna glared at her daughter over Athena's shoulder. “Don't believe everything you've heard,” she said. Doors opened down the hallway, and the Flood Girls emerged, all of them dressed for a night on the town. Except for the Sinclairs, whom Athena was especially taken with. Although the Flood Girls were ready for dinner, they waited while Athena somehow sweet-talked the Sinclairs into lip gloss and chignons. They refused to abandon the jean skirts.

At a Mexican restaurant, Laverna grew entranced with Athena, and the margaritas. She never blended drinks at the Dirty Shame, because it was too much work, but this was something to reconsider.

Halfway through her third margarita, Laverna told Athena the entire story of Jim Number Three, and grew a little weepy. A waiter made the mistake of approaching her.

“I'm really sorry, but dogs aren't allowed in here.” The waiter, a pudgy brown-faced man, pointed at Frank, curled up between Laverna's heels.

“Fuck you,” said Laverna. “Your people eat dogs.”

“That's Koreans, ma'am.”

Laverna slammed her fist on the table. The waiter took a step backward; Athena jumped from the table and reasoned with him, gesturing around the room at the lack of customers, at the banquettes filled with paired members of the softball team. Frank was allowed to stay.

Rachel sat with Bucky at another table, and Laverna caught her rolling her eyes. She threw a balled-up napkin across the restaurant, and it landed in Rachel's enchiladas.

Laverna was hopped up on tequila. She hollered across the room. “Athena says that my break up with Jim Number Three is symptomatic of my low self-esteem!”

“You don't have low self-esteem,” said Rachel. “I'm pretty sure about that.”

“She said that I push people away before they can hurt me,” shouted Laverna. Red Mabel raised a margarita in the air.

“That I agree with,” said Rachel. “Too bad you didn't push away that Clinkenbeard kid.”

“Your mother was victimized,” said Athena. “There's a lot of trauma there.”

“My mother has traumatized an entire town,” pointed out Rachel. “Even the children.”

“Your mother is an alpha female,” declared Athena. “I've never met any woman quite like her. She's ferocious.”

“She bites,” warned Rachel. Laverna responded by baring her teeth.

After dinner, the majority of Flood Girls wanted to find single men and dance. The minority (the Sinclairs) did not, as they had cable television in their room. Laverna sent them away with Frank, and instructions on how to find the porn channels.

With Athena and Rachel as designated drivers, the Flood Girls invaded Missoula. At the Forest Lounge, Laverna once again commandeered Athena, because she was a really good listener, and she had no desire to flirt with the dirty hippies and the rowdy fraternity brothers.

Laverna brought Bucky to help out, but he was useless after his third margarita. She had never seen him drunk before; apparently drunk Bucky had issues with gravity and depth perception. Terrified, he took refuge on the top of a Def Leppard pinball machine, and Ginger and Rachel took turns babysitting.

All night long, Laverna tried to be a good coach. She had finally found an excellent assistant coach, and her name was Margarita. When Laverna caught Diane and a hippie smoking marijuana in the women's bathroom, she snatched a handful of the hippie's long beard and flushed the joint down the toilet.

She bought Ronda six beers in total, and although Ronda did not speak, she smiled each time Laverna appeared with another bottle. The tequila filled Laverna with emotions, and she delivered a speech, thanked Ronda for her years of service and apologized for white people. Ronda stopped smiling, and escaped onto the dance floor. Laverna was shocked, but apparently Ronda had a thing for George Michael.

Ronda was the only person dancing to the beat. Tabby, Della, and Martha slow danced to “I Want Your Sex,” despite the tempo. They had been slow dancing to every song, clinging to a trio of pimply and overweight frat boys who couldn't believe their luck. Laverna stumbled onto the dance floor every twenty minutes, making sure the boys did not get too handsy.

At some point, Laverna lost Diane. She and Athena checked every Suburban in the parking lot, but Diane had just disappeared into the night.

“I don't care if she's high on dope and howling at the moon,” said Laverna. “As long as she doesn't get arrested. She's the best shortstop I've ever seen.” Laverna began weeping, and Athena patted her hand, pulled her back inside the bar.

Red Mabel drank at the bar with the better-looking frat boys, all transplants from the Eastern Seaboard. Adoringly, they bought Red Mabel drinks all night long, and she regaled them with hunting stories. When a handsome boy from Pennsylvania dared question the veracity of Red Mabel riding on the back of a mountain lion, she got into the first and last fistfight of the night. Laverna knew she was justified, and was delighted when his fellow frat boys booed him and drenched him with beer. Of course, Red Mabel was victorious, and nearly broke the nose of the boy from Pennsylvania, careful not to injure her hand. There was a big game tomorrow.

When she wasn't policing her softball team, Laverna continued her therapy session with Athena. When her obsession with layering was diagnosed as issues with intimacy, Laverna did not punch Athena. She held her tongue when Athena called her out for being a control freak, and a martyr. Instead, she wept openly, buried her face in Athena's massive breasts. She apologized for being drunk, but Athena encouraged her to let it all out. So she did, and the rest of the Flood Girls were just as carefree and feckless.

An hour before closing time, Laverna had lost count. She was a bad umpire, as far as tequila was concerned. Ten? Twelve? She was loaded, just as she hoped the bases would be in the morning.

She could hear Athena counseling her, or maybe talking makeup secrets, as she was apt to do. It was just noise at this point. Laverna's ears and eyes were full of tequila, and her senses narrowed to one corner of the bar. Rachel tossed her hair and massaged Bucky's shoulders. Laverna leaped from her seat, could not feel the table slam across her thighs, hear the crash of shot glasses and the screech of Athena's chair skidding backward.

Laverna had a handful of Rachel's hair, and she screamed as she yanked her daughter away from Bucky.

“What the FUCK?” Startled, Rachel grabbed her mother's forearm, and Laverna could barely register the pain as Rachel pinched until her mother let go. Now Rachel was standing, and Laverna was ready for this. This was why she did not drink tequila. Laverna alternated between quaking with sobs and blind rage.

“DON'T TOUCH HIM!” Laverna pointed to Bucky, who stared up from the floor, frightened.

“It's okay,” he said, in a small voice.

“NO!” Laverna shoved Rachel against the wall, and Athena was there, stepping between them. Red Mabel attempted to shove a pool stick into Laverna's hand, and encouraged her to beat her daughter with it. Athena knocked it out of Red Mabel's hand, and it clattered to the floor. The noise was not enough to free Laverna from her tequila tunnel. She shoved Rachel again, and her hands wrapped around her neck.

“YOU RUIN EVERYTHING!” Laverna realized that Rachel was not fighting back. Her daughter closed her eyes, as her face grew red. Rachel had resigned to die at her mother's hands, and that made Laverna even angrier.

The bartender pulled Laverna away, and she kicked him in the knee. Red Mabel provided interference with her massive body, and Athena backed her up, and the bartender was shoved away from the corner. He threatened to call the police.

“Please don't,” said Athena. “This has needed to happen for a long time.”

“I don't give a shit,” said the bartender. “You bitches are out of here.”

“This is nothing,” said Red Mabel. “Come drink at the Dirty Shame sometime, kid.” She reached into her heavy wool logging pants, and forced a fifty-dollar bill into his hand. He accepted the money begrudgingly, and was descended upon by the horny Flood Girls on the dance floor.

“WHY? WHY DID YOU TAKE BILLY? WHY DID YOU RUIN MY LIFE?” Laverna's hands returned to her daughter's throat. Rachel's eyes remained closed, tears streaming down her mottled cheeks. Bucky crab-walked backward, barely missing the shards of broken shot glasses.

“You are choking her,” pointed out Athena. “She can't answer your questions right now.” Athena did nothing to pull Laverna away; instead, she put a hand on Laverna's shoulder.

Laverna dropped her hands. She breathed heavily, gasped as if she had been choked herself.

Rachel opened her eyes and remained against the wall. Laverna could not believe that Rachel was making direct eye contact, no challenge there, no fury. Laverna wanted Rachel to fight back.

“ANSWER MY QUESTIONS!” Laverna stomped on the floor, nearly lost her footing in the pool that spread from the overturned table.

“I don't know,” said Rachel. “I don't know why I did the things I did.” She continued to make eye contact with her mother. Laverna's hands closed into fists. “I've been trying to make things right.”

“She was a teenage girl,” said Athena. “She did what teenage girls do.”

“Fuck that,” Red Mabel said, and spit on the ground. “She was the devil! THE DEVIL!”

Laverna reached back, and punched her daughter in the eye. The bartender was upon them again, but Laverna did not need to be restrained. Rachel's head hit the wall, but she didn't flinch. She stood there, and Laverna felt the arms of the bartender wrap around her, take her down to the wet floor.

Rachel's face was bright red, her eye already swelling and seeping. She said nothing as she stepped past her mother. She paused only to squeeze Athena's hand, as she walked across the dance floor and out the front door.

Laverna sputtered as she was yanked to her feet. The bartender pointed to the exit.

The Flood Girls gathered their purses. None seemed shocked at the violence; Laverna's team had been waiting for this.

Only Athena spoke. “She's your only child,” she said, as the Flood Girls began their exit, accompanied by the groans of frat boys. “She's your daughter.”

“She's our designated driver,” Laverna said, and pushed past Athena. The tequila roared through her, and all Laverna Flood could think about was how they were going to get back to the hotel.

Of course, they woke with hangovers. The Sinclairs were used to this behavior from their teammates, but not before such an important game. Laverna sent them to the lobby to find aspirin, ordered the sisters to begin praying in earnest.