contest.
It had happened on a Tuesday. Aretha Mae was sick with flu, so at her
request Cyndra had taken time off from school to help out. The
Brownings had another maid, but she was out sick too-so Cyndra found
herself alone in the house. Mrs. Browning was shopping, Stock was at
school and Mr. Browning was at his office.
He came home early coughing and spluttering. "I feel lousy.
There's this damn flu going around," he complained, loosening his
tie.
"Be a good girl and fix me a hot tea with lemon. I'll be upstairs."
She didn't like him, but she had no reason to be frightened of him.
She was a big girl now, and he hadn't touched her since she was five.
She made the tea in the spacious kitchen, putting the china cup on a
tray with a matching saucer next to it containing several slices of
lemon. Then she carried the tray upstairs to the master bedroom.
He was in his bathroom. "Leave it on the bedside table and turn the
bed down," he called out.
She did as he asked, touching the fine-quality linen sheets, wondering
what it must feel like to sleep in such luxury.
Mr. Browning emerged from the bathroom clad in a terry-cloth robe. It
was a warm day and the window was open. Outside, the gardener worked
on the lawn.
"Close the window," Mr. Browning said, clearing his throat.
She went over to the window and pulled it closed. Before she could
turn around he grabbed her from behind and wrestled her onto the bed,
pushing up her skirt and ripping off her cotton panties.
She was so startled she hardly had time to put up a struggle.
"Stop!" she managed, trying to get away.
"Cunt, gimme that black cunt," he murmured excitedly, thrusting himself
roughly inside her.
She was too shocked to scream, it all seemed to happen so fast.
Mr. Browning was enjoying himself. "C'mon, black bitch. Give it to
me. Give it to me good," he grunted.
Frantically she struggled, still trying to push him off.
"That's what I like!" he crowed. "Keep on moving-I like it! I like
it when you fight me."
He ripped into her, tearing at her insides, hurting her terribly. She
thought she screamed but she wasn't sure. Whatever she did, he had no
intention of stopping, he was beyond control-until with a longdrawn-out
cry he was finally finished.
He collapsed on top of her for a few moments, almost suffocating her.
Then he got off, and she heard him go into the bathroom.
Drawing her legs up to her stomach she began to sob.
After a few minutes he came out of the bathroom fully clothed as if
nothing had happened. "I'm not going to shower," he said in a
conversational tone. "I want your smell on me all day." He walked to
the door and stopped. "Oh, and by the way, Mrs. Browning will be home
soon, so you'd better stop that sniveling and get those sheets
changed-they're covered in blood."
Six weeks later she realized she was pregnant. She had nowhere to turn
except to her mother, so she'd told her everything.
Aretha Mae had listened silently, her face clouding over with anger.
When she was finished her mother said harshly, "You re never done
makin' up stories bout these people, are you?"
"It's the truth-" Aretha Mae slapped her across the face. "Shut up!
You hear me, girl? I'll take care of it-but you must never talk bout
this again.
Never."
Somehow Aretha Mae had come up with the money to send her to in City
for the abortion.
Now she was back, and she hoped Aretha Mae wasn't going to force her to
continue school. It would be far better if she dropped out and got a
job, they could certainly do with the extra money.
The rain had stopped, but the ground was still muddy. She wasn't
frightened walking through the dark. There were no streetlights, but
she knew every inch of the trailer park, it was the only home she'd
When she arrived outside their trailer she was surprised to see lights
on and hear the television blaring. It wasn't like her mother to stay
up so late.
She opened the door and walked in.
A man was sprawled on the bed watching television. He had a can of
beer in one hand and a stupid smile on his face. He was laughing at
something Johnny Carson had just said.
Cyndra stopped abruptly. "Who're you?" she asked, alarmed.
Groggily he sat up. "Who am I? Who in hell are you?"
"Where's my mother?" she demanded. "Where's Aretha Mae?"
Primo's eyes focused on this beautiful slip of a girl. "Shee-it!" he
exclaimed. "You must be my daughter. Come on over here an' say a big
hello to your daddy." ince their engagement party Stock had been
suitably deflated. He'd caught hell from his parents for inviting too
many people, and allowing the party to get totally out of control.
When Lauren left he'd been drunkenly reeling around the place with his
so-called friends-who'd proceeded to wreck the place, smashing glasses
and bottles, pulling down half the tent, generally causing chaos. Mr.
Browning was not amused.
"It wasn't my fault," Stock whined to Lauren. "You were there, why
didn't you stop me from letting them all in?"
"Because I'm not your keeper," she said crossly. "It's your own
fault." And it was his fault. Who did he think she was-his mother?
They bickered on and off. Lauren was miserable and yet she didn't know
what to do. Should she give him back his ring? She knew that's what
she should do, but she didn't want to do it while he was having trouble
with his parents. His father had cut his allowance. His mother was
barely speaking to him. How could she turn against him too?
Stock did nothing but complain. She decided that as soon as his
complaints stopped she would make her move. Meanwhile, she threw
herself into a student production of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof She'd landed
the plum role of Maggie the Cat, which was exciting, and her husband,
Brick, was played by one of the older boys, Dennis Rivers.
Apart from being very good-looking, Dennis was a terrific actor. The
rumor was that he liked boys instead of girls. Lauren couldn't care
less who or what he liked, she felt privileged to be working with
him.
Betty Harris was in charge of the drama group. They met after school
at the old church hall once a week.
Betty was unlike the other teachers. A large, billowy woman in her
fifties, she had flushed cheeks and straw-colored hair that never
looked combed. She favored loose gypsy clothes and spoke in a breathy,
excited voice encouraging her students to excel.
As far as Lauren was concerned, drama group was the high point of her
week.
"I hear you got engaged, Lauren dear," Betty Harris greeted her.
She nodded.
"Too young," Betty said, shaking her head knowledgeably. "Much too
young.
Lauren nodded again. At least someone understood.
When all of her students were assembled, Betty made an announcement.
"I have a big surprise for everyone," she said, fluttering her hands.
"You've often heard me mention my brother, Harrington Harris, the
famous New York stage actor. Well, next week he's coming to visit us
here in Bosewell."
An appreciative hum went around the room.
"So you will see that I am not actually making him up," Betty
continued, her rosy cheeks glowing. "He will be with us very soon."
She paused, her protruding eyes darting around until they settled on
someone in back. "And on another note, before we start rehearsals
today, I'd like to welcome a new student into our group. Will all of
you please say hello to Nick Angelo."
Lauren turned around, startled. Lounging at the back of the room in
his familiar outfit of jeans and dirty denim jacket was Nick.
Meg nudged her. "I just died!" she whispered. "If I can only keep
him away from Dawn, maybe I've got another chance."
"Do you still want one? I thought you hated him."
"I know," Meg agreed. "But who else is there? I mean, you've got to
admit, he is gorgeous.
Yes, reluctantly Lauren had to admit it-in his own intense way, he
certainly was.
Cyndra was shocked and angry to discover that while she'd been away her
mother had allowed her longtime missing husband and his scummy son to
move in. A husband Cyndra hadn't even known existed. And what's more,
the man claimed he was her father. Her father, for God's sake! A
white-trash piece of shit who made her sick just looking at him.
"I'm getting out of here," she threatened.
"Where you going', girl?" Aretha Mae asked, her lip curling.
Cyndra was close to tears. "I'll get a job, find something. But I'm
not stayin' here."
They argued back and forth until finally Cyndra realized it was
useless. She had no money and nowhere to go. Once again she was
trapped.
"You be sharin' the other trailer with your brothers," Aretha Mae said,
glad to see her daughter, but sorry about the trouble she was bound to
cause.
Cyndra moved into the battered old trailer next door. She put up a
sheet dividing the already crowded trailer in two, and refused to speak
to Nick. "Stay on your side," she warned him, "an' we won't have no
trouble. Got it?"
He'd just looked at her, still trying to reconcile himself to the fact
that he actually had a half sister, and a black one at that.
"What've I done to you?" he asked one day. "It ain't my fault we're
stuck here."
"You and your goddamn daddy," she replied, her brown eyes flashing.
"He's nothing to me.
"Oh, yeah-nothin' cept your dad."
"My dad your dumb ass," she fired back. "I hate both of you."
She was pretty but a real pain. He made no further attempt to speak to
her.
Meanwhile he was doing okay at the gas station. Apart from Saturday
nights he now came in on Saturday mornings too. He stashed away most
of the money he made, after handing a few bucks to Aretha Mae each
week. When Primo found out he had a part-time job he soon made
demands.
"Nothin' left," Nick said.
"What in hell am I supposed t'do?" Primo complained.
"Whyn't you try getting a job?" Nick replied, standing up to his
father for once.
Whack! Primo lashed out, his heavy hand swinging through the air.
Nick was old enough and wise enough to know when it was coming and duck
out of range.
Cyndra refused to walk with him in the mornings or even sit next to him
on the bus. At school he noticed she was even more of a loner than he
was, although on Saturday nights she hung out with the biker crowd from
Ripley.
Primo seemed to think they were living the great American dream.
Now that Cyndra had returned he tried to play the concerned father.
"Don't want that girl runnin' around all times of night," he informed
Aretha Mae.
"You've left it too late to be givin' her orders," she said. "She
ain't gonna take nothin' from you."
"She's my daughter," Primo roared. "An' I make the rules around
here."
Aretha Mae shook her head wearily. She had Primo back after seventeen
years, but the question was-did she really want him?
The scene from Cat on a Hot Tin Roof went extremely well. Lauren was
glowing, she loved playing Maggie the Cat, especially with Dennis as
Brick.
After class Betty Harris praised her. "Excellent, Lauren dear. You
really have talent."
She was delighted. "I do? You know, one day I'd like to go to New
York. Would I have a chance?"
"Acting is a tough business," Betty replied. She was wearing a
voluminous caftan with multiple hanging gold necklaces, and every time
she spoke the chains rattled against each other. "Too many actors
chasing too few parts."
"But I'd love to give it a try," Lauren said earnestly.
"A try would be good, dear, but don't depend on acting to make a
living, it's far too treacherous a profession."
Stock met her after class, took her arm possessively, noticed Nick and
said, "What's that creep doing here?"
Lauren jumped to his defense. "He's not a creep."
"Says who? Take a look at him-always in that stupid get-up. Who does
he think he is-James Dean?"
"Not everyone has to look like you," Lauren said coolly.
"Not everyone can look like me," he boasted.
They went to the drugstore for a soda. The Way We Were was playing at
the local theater. Lauren wanted to see it, but Stock wasn't
interested.
"I hate that sentimental crap," he jeered. "Give me Clint Eastwood any
day."
She sighed. "You promised we could see it tonight."
"I got other ideas."
"Like what?"
"Going for a drive, talking about our future. It's about time."
"I guess so," she said hesitantly, taking a long deep breath. A drive
was good, it would give her an opportunity to tell him she didn't think
they had a future.
Stock drove like a rich kid showing off. His father had weakened and
promised him a new car for Christmas, so he really let the Thunderbird
rip, zooming down Main Street as though he was competing in a drag
race.
"Not so fast," she said, clutching the dashboard.
"Calm down."
She hated being told to "calm down"-like she was hysterical or
something. "Where are we going?" she asked.
"Over to the old athletic field," he replied, taking one arm from the
steering wheel and placing it around her shoulders.
The deserted field just outside town was a notorious necking spot.
"No," she said quickly.
"Why not?"
"You know why."
"We're engaged. We can go anywhere."
"That's what I want to talk to you about."
"I thought I was the one who wanted to talk."
"We should both talk," she said seriously.
Against her better judgment she allowed him to drive to the old field,
where he parked the car, dimmed the headlights and immediately
swooped.
"What are you doing?" she said, pushing him off.
"What I should've done a couple of months ago," he repli
ed, his big
hands roaming all over her.
She slapped his hands away. "C'mon, Stock, don't start this."
"What are you, Lauren? Some kind of ice queen?" He said, managing to
clamp his lips down on hers.
She struggled free. "Will you stop it!"
He drew away from her, clenching his fists. "Christ! When do I get to
first base with you?"
"Never," she replied heatedly. "This engagement is a big mistake.
We weren't meant to be together."
He sat up straight. "What the hell do you mean by that?"
"I never should have said yes. I don't know why I did. My parents
encouraged me. They like you, they like your family. They think we
make a great match." She knew she was speaking too fast, but now she