Margarette (Violet) Read online

  Violet

  Part 1: Margarette

  A novel

  By

  K LeMaire

  Johi Jenkins

  VIOLET

  Part 1: Margarette

  Copyright © 2013 K LeMaire

  By

  K LeMaire

  Co-authored and edited by

  Johi Jenkins

  www.johijenkins.blogspot.com

  All rights reserved: no part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN-13: 978-1496060440

  ISBN-10: 149606044X

  An empty house and a negligent mother lead small-town Margarette into the deviant web of a new set of friends. A lapse in judgment, trust put in the wrong people—and sweet Margarette becomes the victim of a social disaster, setting in motion a chain of events that will alter her life forever.

  Social death doesn’t come without a silver lining. Margarette finds herself the interest of town heartthrob Tommy Gallager. She is determined to like him, if only to spite the friends that betrayed her. Bad choices keep piling up, and she suddenly becomes trapped in a relationship that she doesn’t want.

  But when she comes across a forbidden book that leads her to believe she can find true love, the type of love that is only written and not seen in real life . . . will she be able to resist the pull of an impossible quest? Or will the small town drown her ambition?

  Dedicated to my lifelong friend

  Johi Jenkins,

  My wife

  Contents

  Chapter 1. Dispensing Cheer Enthusiasts

  Chapter 2. Social Butterfly

  Chapter 3. The Professional

  Chapter 4. Naked Truths

  Chapter 5. Following

  Chapter 6. Under the Bleachers

  Chapter 7. Scandal

  Chapter 8. Slick Surprise

  Chapter 9. Stumped

  Chapter 10. The Last Test

  Chapter 11. Spoiled Dinner

  Chapter 12. Overture

  Chapter 13. Stuck

  Chapter 14. First Day at the Five Star

  Chapter 15. Toasters and Televisions

  Chapter 16. The Foundling Wheel

  Chapter 17. Burning

  A note from the editor

  About the authors

  Violet

  Part 1: Margarette

  Chapter 1. Dispensing Cheer Enthusiasts

  The sun burns Margarette’s arm as she leans against the window of her new friend’s car. The gas station’s rusted overhang doesn’t help much; the car sits in the sun next to a dust road. Fitting, she thinks as she pulls the pump handle in her hand until it clicks. She’s waiting to pump gas, but the pump was never turned on.

  She squints to see the lone attendant inside looking down not waiting on anyone. This means her friends are walking around or doing something they shouldn’t be doing, or both. Margarette shuts her eyes hoping they would just appear, but she knows it won’t work. Nothing she ever dreamed of came true.

  Tired of waiting, she walks to the gas station door and leans inside with only the top half of her torso. A rush of air pushes out, fanning her hair behind her.

  “Hey, did they pay?” she shouts to the attendant unaware of how quiet it is inside.

  “Who?” The clerk asks, startled.

  He looks down at her chest then slowly back at her eyes. She squints and points her index finger at him to let him know she caught him looking. He shrinks back into what he was doing just like a kid from her old high school, staring at her during class. He looks down, pretending not to be embarrassed, but never stops glancing up at her body out of the corner of his eye. He’s creepy; then again at least he had the decency to look down.

  Margarette moves back without a word, letting the door drop in front of her, and walks around to the back of the building. After walking the long way around the gas station and through a series of small bushes, she finds one of her friends in her wannabe cheerleader outfit leaning against a wall by the men’s restroom. Julie mutters a few words as Margarette walks past her to the women’s door, but Margarette ignores her. She likes to pretend to ignore Julie.

  Margarette reaches the women’s restroom but stops with her hand on the doorknob and looks back at the other girl. “Wait, you said she was in there?” she asks, pointing to the other door.

  “And I did.”

  Margarette walks up to her. “That’s the men’s room,” she says slowly, for confirmation.

  Julie takes a drag from her smoke. “That’s why I’m looking out.”

  “Why is she…?”

  “Because the women’s was closed,” Julie says, as if it was obvious. She points to a sign on the women’s door, but Margarette never looks at it and walks past her to the men’s restroom.

  “Hey, wait!” Julie calls. “You should stand watch and I go get her. I’m tired of being the lookout. Come back!” She struggles to quickly finish the last inch of the smoke and give chase.

  But Margarette doesn’t pay attention and storms into the bathroom. The door swings open and she sees the words “Beware the whore of Beelzebub” splattered across the mottled tile in thick black goo. The stain is part blood and part some other black tar color.

  She pans the room with two dirty sinks, three disgusting urinals, a few stalls—one of them out of order—and a dispensary on the wall. Margarette quickly notices that the last door is shut.

  “Alice?”

  There is no answer. Margarette only hears a dripping sink.

  Drip… drip.

  Then a horrible screech… as if a giant saw were digging into a tree. The noise rocks the door to the stall, and pieces of black paper and wood fall to the floor. Margarette looks between the cracks in the door and sees Alice trying desperately to not touch the wall or toilet while scratching a message into the wall.

  “Alice!” Margarette calls again.

  She hears her friend’s voice. “Whose number do you want to put?”

  Margarette gets in the stall with her friend and looks sternly at her. She reads the indecent offer Alice has already scratched into the wall. “Are you kidding me? Sharon’s.”

  “Frick yeah,” Alice says, her voice enthusiastic like it’s some wicked inside joke.

  “What the hell are you doing with a knife?” Margarette asks.

  “It’s not a knife. It’s a switchblade,” Alice corrects her sharply demonstrating the knife’s ability, and continues to cut through a vinyl sheet into the pressed board. “A super sharp switchblade. I found it.”

  Margarette scrunches her face about to speak. She hears faint footsteps, and then the outside door opening. A bright sunray briefly shines the inside the filthy bathroom. Margarette makes a worried face but doesn’t move.

  “What’s that face about?” Alice says. “It’s probably just Jules.”

  “What if the guy that lost the knife comes looking for it in the bathroom?”

  “I found it out by the pumps, not in here.”

  “So…? He’s allowed to use the restroom. And we’re in it.”

  “Whatever. I’m almost done. This is how we get stalkers to call that bitch Sharon.” Alice continues scratching the wall.

  “It’s so weird that you know her number,” Margarette mutters, and at that moment the stall door swings open startling the two.

  “Hey!” Julie calls. “What are you doing?”

  “Damn it, Jules, you’re supposed to be on watch,” Alice says.

  “She should be; it’s her turn now,” Julie says, wheezing, probably from the ear
ly onset of emphysema.

  Alice waves the open knife in front of her. Julie’s hyperventilating slows.

  “We can’t just stay here,” Margarette says. “What if someone comes in?”

  “Go pump the gas then,” says Julie.

  “You didn’t pay the guy.”

  Julie scoffs. Margarette looks at her and raises an eyebrow.

  “I’m just saying it would be nice if you paid for once,” Julie says.

  Alice smiles as she finishes a digit from Sharon’s phone number.

  “I pay sometimes,” Margarette says defensively. “Besides, it’s not even my car.”

  “Yeah right, you pay,” Julie whispers under her breath.

  Margarette rolls her eyes and idea comes to her. “Give me the knife.”

  “Hey,” Alice complains, as Margarette snatches the knife from her without waiting for an answer. Alice catches the sleeve of Margarette’s shirt, but Margarette protests and pulls away until the fabric snaps.

  Her jaw drops without her permission and the other two girls stare at the torn sleeve. She’s not going to admit it to them, but she doesn’t own a whole lot of shirts to begin with. Annoyed, she decides to ignore the accident, and she steps completely out of the stall, switchblade in hand.

  “Wait, the 8 still looks like a 3,” Alice complains, but her voice isn’t harsh.

  “It looks fine,” Margarette calls without stopping.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Come see… I’ve got a trick.”

  “Don’t cut yourself with that!”

  “Oh, relax.”

  “What the hell are you going to do?” Julie cuts in, her voice hoarse from the few smokes she’s had today.

  Margarette stares at Julie and vividly imagines her as a chimney, where each word that comes out of Julie’s mouth casts gray powder soot; her mouth and tongue emolliated as if covered in a suttee. Julie is more of a frenemy to her than anything else. Margarette spends a great deal of effort pretending to be indifferent to Julie’s bitchiness, but her real interest is Alice. Alice is someone she’s always wanted to know.

  Margarette’s eyes flash in the natural light as she walks up to the dispensary on the wall. She grins as if working something out in her head.

  “You say this blade is sharp, huh?” Margarette asks.

  “Like a razor,” Alice says.

  Margarette holds the switchblade along the seam and presses it against the metal surface. Julie shifts her stance and folds her arms pretending to be overly bored by everything. Margarette, with her back turned, can’t see Alice, but she assumes both girls are having a muted conversation using eye contact alone. She presses her weight against the knife, but the latch doesn’t pop on the dispenser. Crap. She had seen a guy do this with a flathead screwdriver. The knife was much thinner.

  “Well, it was razor-sharp,” Julie complains.

  Margarette continues pushing unfazed.

  “You’re dulling the blade,” Alice complains.

  “Yeah, why don’t you just stop already? Wanna slice your wrist?” Julie barks. “On second thought; keep going.”

  Margarette feels a bead of sweat swell on her brow, and smells the dirt and filth in the room as she fights to concentrate. She leans forward, pushing her ass out in her blue jean shorts, and presses her bare knee to the wall. She changes her grip, increases the angle on the knife and grunts, squeezing the blade between her hands. She tightens almost every muscle and gives it one last shove.

  The dispensary pops open with a victorious squeak.

  Alice is impressed. “Alright….”

  Julie takes a few seconds but follows Alice’s lead. “Yeah, alright,” she says.

  Alice and Julie step up to the machine and open a three-part container filled with cologne capsules, mouthwash and assorted condoms. They hover over it like it’s some sort of treasure, giggling as they loot the box, while Margarette moves to the sink. She runs her hand under water; the stream turns temporarily pink as a wisp of blood dances in the filth-covered porcelain.

  Margarette washes the cut. When she turns around Alice is standing right in front of her, looking down at her hand.

  “Can I have my knife back?”

  Margarette forms a Glasgow grin and tilts her head forward staring into Alice’s eyes. “I want one,” she says.

  Alice slowly smiles greeting the challenge, but Margarette sidesteps her and walks towards Julie. She sees her digging through the spoils. Margarette approaches Julie with the knife out.

  “I think I’ll keep this one,” Margarette specifies as she approaches Julie who looks up in terror.

  Julie’s expression darkens. “Come on….” She looks around for Alice. “Let’s get out of here; it smells.”

  That catches Margarette’s attention and she looks at Julie’s hands. “Wait…” she drags out the sentence. “It’s not right to take every last item in the machine. The next person to put a quarter in won’t get nothing.” This she says in a cute little voice as she steps closer to Julie.

  Julie says, “Back off, head case….”

  But Margarette isn’t intimidated by Julie, not while she holds her new sharp and pointy friend. Julie is also much shorter and blonder, and Margarette associates blondes with a lot of talk and no action. This stems from Margarette being a brunette.

  “Show me what you got,” Margarette demands.

  “Frick that,” Julie says. “You can see it in the car. It smells in here.”

  Margarette grabs Julie’s palm while holding the knife in the other and takes one of each item: a mouthwash bottle, a cologne sample and one purple condom. The girls scoff, confused by her effort to right her misdeed, as she turns her back to them and heads to the dispensary. She dramatically places one of each item into the machine, then holds up the condom like an eye patch, and looks back at the girls smiling.

  “What kind of people do you think come in here?” she asks them.

  “What the hell does that matter?” Julie asks impatiently.

  “I’m just wondering. I’m thinking and wondering….” The little hairs on her arm stand up. At any moment someone could come in there. But she holds out the condom to the wall. She wipes the sweat from her brow, using her forearm.

  “Hmmmf… probably just a bunch of perverts and sex offenders.”

  “Fricking junkies,” says Alice.

  “And truck drivers,” adds Julie.

  “Yeah…” agrees Margarette. “And truck-driving junkie rapists. Fricking hell. Somebody should probably do something about that,” she adds, emulating a redneck twang.

  She picks up the blade and presses it into the center of the condom like a bruised bull’s-eye until she hears a faint snap as the steel pierces the tip. Alice chuckles after realizing what she intends to do. Until that moment Alice wasn’t one to pay anyone attention; man, woman or child. Margarette grins and Alice smiles right back waiting for her to commit the misdeed.

  Any other day of the week Margarette’s upbringing would kick in and she would say a prayer or two in a futile attempt at penance. She doesn’t even know if she wants to hang out with the two girls full time, one of which is a bitch and obviously doesn’t like her much. She can’t see past the awkwardness of new acquaintances to know if it is worth it. Julie would always think she is too good for Margarette because she is on varsity. Or was, until she quit with the excuse of a lung capacity problem.

  Yet Margarette feels the need to hang out with them. A girl always needs a gang. Backup. Maybe just acceptance with a new group of girls.

  She turns with a smile and starts fiddling with the vending machine box.

  “So what?” Julie asks, unimpressed. “Who gives a shit about….”

  Margarette pushes the condom into position.

  Julie gasps. “Oh… shit. You can’t.”

  Alice kind of chuckles, but fights to hide it.

  Margarette stands back and admires her work. “That’ll ruin their fricking day.”

  “For
eighteen years,” Alice agrees. Then she asks, “Can I have my knife back?”

  Margarette looks at the blade. “Can I keep it?”

  “It’s not for sale.”

  “I didn’t say I was paying.”

  There’s a moment of silence while they all try to figure each other out.

  “I’m going to the car,” Julie finally says.

  “Put gas in it,” says Margarette in a cocky way.

  “Yeah,” Alice says. “We’ll be out front in a bit.”

  Julie storms out and Alice walks up to Margarette. “You wanna go to a party on this weekend? I hear someone’s older brother is getting a keg.”

  That takes Margarette by surprise. “I’ve got church on Sunday,” she says.

  “It’s on Friday.”

  “Well, then, sure.”

  Both chuckle and walk out. They share a smoke and slow walk instead of going to the car just to keep Julie waiting. Margarette coughs a bit, since she’s never smoked before, but she does try to make it look like she inhales.

  Out of nowhere Alice gives up. “Okay, you can have the knife,” she says, and the knife changes owners. Alice shows Margarette the clasp to fold it in half. Margarette smiles and sticks it in her shorts’ pocket.

  Eventually they meander back. They are discussing the concept of suck and blow, a game that might come up at the party, when Julie comes rushing back.

  “Hey,” she says to Alice. “You’re never going to believe it.”

  Her skirt flips in the wind as she jumps up and down squealing. She blocks out Margarette with her body, as if the topic is only meant for Alice. Her voice is an elusive whisper that could be heard by all, but still hoarsely hushed.

  “What is it?” Alice asks.

  “Tommy’s up front,” she says in that non-whisper. “He’s here.”

  Alice’s expression brightens, clearly interested. “What did he say?”

  “I don’t know,” Julie says. “Not much.”

  “What? Then why are you so excited?” Alice asks, surprised. “You saw him and didn’t say anything to him?”