Margarette (Violet) Page 3

  “Is there somewhere I can lie down?” she asks faintly. “I need to….”

  She falls back down on the couch and tumbles into somebody’s lap. If she were awake she wouldn’t remember ever having spoken with him, but he remembers her and every casual word in passing.

  Paulie Sharp is a fragile youth that would rescue a bird from a cat while it pecked at his hand. His clever wit and charm would bore a girl like Margarette out of her mind on even a short field trip. He grabs Margarette by the shoulders to get her stable. Her blank stare turns into an intoxicating smile, driving his heart to flutter. His arm reaches behind her and hooks under her. Some people in the living room call out names and whistle as a new song starts. He tries to stand up and to drag her to the edge of the couch. Her legs fold under her Indian style and she slips down to the floor sitting flat on her butt, pulling him down on top of her. Everyone rolls and reacts with a round of applause and laughter.

  She slams her head forward and she slurs with way too happy of a tone. “Congratulations.”

  “What?” Paulie asks. “Are you okay?”

  “Sleeping Beauty…. Beauty has been poisoned.” Her slurred words are barely audible.

  “Don’t go to sleep,” Paulie warns softly, forcing her back up.

  He slides her up against the edge of the couch and her hands fall limp into her lap. She smiles and her head rocks to the side.

  The crowd murmurs over the guitar solo in the song. An older guy in the room says, “That kid’s going to get laid.”

  The majority of the girls watch and laugh, discussing Margarette’s character in typical girl gang fashion: judgmental and mean.

  “That girl’s so wasted!”

  “She’s such a slut….”

  “She’s a total pro.”

  “I know.”

  Chapter 3. The Professional

  Margarette thinks she’s alone when she wakes up in the cramped back seat of a sports car. Her head bobs of its own accord. Her eyes widen as she realizes she’s in the back seat of a car she doesn’t recognize. Clearly, she’s still drugged, but she’s coming around. She pushes herself against the door to keep herself upright. The car is not moving and almost silent other than the faint sound of the radio playing. After another minute of consciousness she realizes that the car is parked.

  She looks down and notices she’s not wearing shoes. Her eyes drift to the front of the car and panic grips her face. Someone is sitting low in the front seat, presumably unaware that she’s awake. Her hands move to her breasts and she further panics as she realizes that her bra has been removed. She continues to inspect herself, making sure she can feel each limb, and she feels okay. Her body is sore, but not in pain; only a dull numbness from the narcotics remains floating in her system.

  Her hand lifts unsteadily to the door and finds the door handle. She pulls down with her fingertips and a red light near the floorboard kicks on.

  The traitor car discloses her actions with a ding ding ding….

  She shuts it with a hushed breath that slips past her gaping jaw.

  “Violet…” she hears a man’s voice up front.

  Terrified, she pushes open the door faster than the door can ring and rushes out. Still hazy from the drugs, she only manages to slide halfway out of the car and onto the grass.

  “Hold on, hold on!” the man calls, and feels his hand groping her, trying to get a hold of her clothes.

  Her jaw clenches and she squirms further out until she’s free. She falls out and feels the fresh blades of grass in her palms, when she was expecting a road. She scrambles to her bare feet, crouched low, touching the ground. The grass is not wet like after a rain, but moist like in the middle of the cool night after a long hot day. The man shouts again and she snaps out of the daze. She’s leaning forward in a running stance, like a cat ready to sprint, but she finally recognizes the voice that keeps calling out to her.

  She looks back through the open car door and sees Tommy fighting with his seatbelt. The adrenaline keeps her awake and still, but her body is weak, and she realizes she can’t possibly run. She drops one knee to the ground just to hold herself up in the grass, but the world splits as her balance fails and she rolls on her side to see stars faintly twinkling in the black night.

  Tommy towers over her next to the car. His hand reaches under her side near the waist, and he pulls the sleeve of her dress back up to her shoulder. She hadn’t realized that her sleeve had fallen down her arm. Margarette smiles with an absent expression, then her head tips back to the ground. She feels the cool grass on her neck.

  Without a word, Tommy grabs her and lifts her up, trying to stand her in front of him. Her legs press against his as she tries to find her footing. Her whole body feels heavy and warm in his arms, like she’s running a fever, and she can’t stand up. Tommy bends and picks her up easily. Her chin presses against his neck.

  “You’re trembling,” he says near to her ear. The side of her face is on his skin; his voice sounds deep as if echoing in a drum. When his jaw moves she feels his unshaven cheek against her. Her body quivers as if to validate his words.

  She gasps. “What happened?”

  “You passed out. I saved you,” Tommy replies.

  “Saved me?”

  “Yeah.”

  Margarette lifts her head a few inches and looks around. “You took me to the middle of nowhere.”

  “Yes….”

  He doesn’t explain anything else. She can literally hear crickets chirping. She falls silent again, eyes closing, almost asleep.

  “Violet,” she hears him say again. She doesn’t understand why he’s calling her that. Or is he calling her that?

  She opens her eyes. “Do you have a tag name?”

  She feels Tommy’s soft chuckle reverberate through her. “A what?”

  “A name when people play tag? My cousin and I always played it and her name was Pricilla. It was her fancy name,” she mumbles.

  “I don’t play tag, or name people while playing games.”

  It’s her turn to laugh. “Everyone plays tag.”

  “Everyone? What about people in wheelchairs?”

  “They play tag.”

  “With no arms?”

  “They play tag,” she repeats.

  “Of course. What about people with problems balancing?” He wobbles her slightly in his arms.

  She lifts a limp arm with effort, and touches his chest. “You’re it.”

  Tommy smiles and taps her shoulder, making her wobble again since he’s holding her up. “You’re it.”

  “Now that you’ve played, what’s your nickname?” she asks him.

  “I don’t have one. What’s yours?”

  “I thought you knew…” she says, trailing off. “You called me Violet.”

  “Violet? I said Margarette,” he clarifies.

  He starts to lose his grip on her, and his palm presses against her back. If she was sober she would worry about his fingers poking her back, but instead she just falls limp in the cradle of his arms. She tucks her head into his shoulder and he steps with her back up to the car, placing her on top of the trunk. She feels the cool metal beneath her and sniffs the cut grass in the cool night air. She is alone with him and barely able to stay awake.

  Margarette falls back across the trunk and slumps into the rear windshield.

  “Don’t touch me…” she warns, showing her teeth and crinkling her nose like a cat. “Oh, it’s you.”

  “You okay?”

  “Everything.”

  “What?”

  “Asimov is the end of everything.”

  Tommy has no clue what she means. “You probably don’t remember me. I was a few lockers down from you when we were kids. I was in your class last year. It was a make-up class, but it….” Her head rolls back. “Hey. Hey, are you okay?” He leans over her to hold her behind the neck.

  “Tom… Tommy, are you pressing against me?” she asks, and it comes off sultry.

  “I’m sorry
,” he says. “I wasn’t trying to.”

  “Trying to what?” She bites her lower lip.

  “I just don’t know many girls like you. I think… no one does. You’re not like anyone else.”

  “Everyone’s just like me,” she argues, still hazy.

  He dismisses her comment with a laugh. “Who are you like?”

  “Every girl on earth….” She mumbles each word, barely opening her mouth to speak. “Every girl is just like me. They all want to be where I am right now.”

  “I don’t think so….” Tommy says.

  “Every girl… wants to be held.”

  Tommy smiles, a warm smile that she doesn’t see. He says, almost to himself, “I didn’t know what to do when I found you.”

  “Take me….” She starts to say, and tries to sit upright.

  “Take you where?”

  She struggles to clear her voice. “Take me home….”

  “But I don’t know where you live,” Tommy says.

  She slips forward and off the car, kneels on the grass in front of him, as if she were going to be sick. He holds her as she leans forward, gripping her shoulders. Her head presses against him and he freezes, afraid to move away. She grows still and his hands touch the back of her head.

  A soft wind blows past and it sounds like a girl singing softly to herself.

  She doesn’t throw up, and doesn’t sound sick after that, but she won’t move either. Tommy has to pick her up to get her into the car. He lowers the passenger seat and lays her out flat, then carefully closes the door making sure she’s tucked in. He goes around and gets in the driver’s seat, and looks at her.

  Her dress is hiked up enough for him to see her underwear. He smiles like a child eyeing a toy. They are completely alone, but he still looks around. His hand slides down to her leg and he pulls down on the hem of her dress, but only an inch or two. He leans in close and looks at her rosy cheeks. He’s so close he can smell the drop of sweet fragrance she’s wearing.

  She turns her head and smiles at him, but she isn’t awake. Her eyes are shut… Tommy figures she’s acting out a dream. He wants to kiss her. Why is he holding back? No one is there to stop him, except his conscience. He worries about her being on drugs, or that people would find out that he was with her like this. It’s not like she was known as a slut, but she’s a lot younger than him; almost a whole year. After Sharon, he decided he would only date older girls; these high school girls only brought him pain.

  But looking at Margarette now he considers breaking his rule. He might not have had anything to do with her in grade school, but she has grown up a lot since he knew her as a girl. He thinks about it. She’s still a girl, beautiful and innocent. He can’t touch that.

  Tommy didn’t recognize her when he first saw her at pumps, but she had an appeal that was difficult to forget. She was different than most, sexy, attractive, and had a kind of dirty quality that was offset by a beautiful body. Tonight he looks at her from afar and she looks like a goddess in the purple moonlight. He doesn’t touch her, but for a while he thinks about nothing else other than temptation.

  He pulls the seat belt across her chest and starts the car. For a while he fights it, but inevitably he finds himself staring at her. An 80’s track starts on his tape player. She moans softly as if entering a dream that somehow corresponds with the song. His conscience leaves him and his hand drops to her side and bumps against her hand. Margarette doesn’t react to the touch. His heart beating fast, he moves his hand to her leg. Her face twitches so he retreats quickly. She presses her dress down with her palm and slides it further down, just past her hips. His hand switches to the dash and turns down the mixed tape as it reaches the pinnacle of the crescendo.

  When he looks back her hand is down between her thighs. In the back of his mind he wonders if she really is awake, pretending she’s asleep but watching him mess with her. He breathes deeply then removes his foot from the brake making them weightless for an instant.

  “Where did you come from… heaven or hell?” He whispers so quietly that it’s barely audible.

  The next track is soft and has a faint drum. Margarette’s face relaxes again. He remains silent and still as they glide along an empty side road near to an overpass. Her hand slides under her dress and she touches herself, a gentle caress. The car slows to neutral as Tommy looks down at her, absolutely shocked and in awe by her cute secret, like he’s hearing a puppy talk. She doesn’t moan or squirm, but her hand explores herself until her labored breathing suddenly stops, and she slips back into a deep sleep in the reclined seat. His heart is racing again and he catches his breath as the car rolls to a stop on the empty country road.

  He reaches over her, holding his hand an inch from her nose, and feels the breath from her lips. His hand brushes her and runs down her neck without making actual contact. She smiles and his hand hovers over her breast until he can feel the warmth of her body. He can see the outline of her nipple through the light fabric, but the pattern makes it harder to distinguish her breasts. His eyes shut and he lays his hand on her chest. He holds his hand there until it starts to pulse up and down with each one of her breaths.

  Tommy contemplates taking advantage of her. His hand slides under the edge of the neck of the dress and continues into her top. Her soft breast in his hand and his palm runs over her nipple, fondling her. He imagines the shape of her breasts by feel, and they are perfect. She doesn’t move, doesn’t respond, and a faint naughty smile surfaces on his face. He decides not to start back on the road for a bit. He cups her breast fully, and with the other hand pulls her dress down below her shoulder. The soft lace falls from her bare chest covered only by his grasping palm. He slowly moves his hand back so her hard nipple is the only thing touching his hand. He exhales as he moves his hand away… and looks at her breast in the moonlight. The smile fades and he freezes looking at how perfect she is. She is so beautiful that he finally starts to feel dirty, like when he gets a hard on in church.

  Cool air rushes from the vent between them and she rolls to the side, making it hard for him to pull her dress back up. He struggles to cover his tracks, pinching the shoulder of the dress and bringing it back up as delicately as possible. After some time fiddling with the strap, she remains still as if asleep, and he convinces himself that he’s in the clear.

  The hem of the dress is still pulled up on one side so far that he can see her soft white panties and the curve of her butt. He smiles wickedly again and shakes his head, resisting the urge to tempt fate, and presses the pedal until the car rolls forward again.

  Tommy drives aimlessly for about an hour with Margarette unconscious. The cassette deck clicks to the end of the tape and flips to the B side when he pulls into Sharon’s backyard. He goes down a long driveway by a youth sports field and a big ditch that separates the thick woods from her two-story house.

  Sharon and Tommy broke up a few weeks ago. When she told him she was seeing someone else he smiled thinking she was kidding. She had always been a bitch to him, and this was a way for her to have more freedom to do whatever the frick she wanted, he assumed. Then the news broke to everyone. At first he tried to make it sound like a good thing. That he would get lots of girls, and his freedom had just begun. But until this night every girl had stayed clear of him beyond the casual flirt.

  He had come to see if Sharon’s light was out, and he’s satisfied when he sees that it is. The light being off is a good thing, and he smiles, until his imagination takes hold. His smile falters. Now he doesn’t know if the light is out because she just had sex, or so people wouldn’t see her having sex, or if she’s out at someone else’s house having sex. Every possibility tightens a lump in his stomach filled with acid. He puts his hand on Margarette’s ass like an arm rest, rapping his fingers on her bare butt, now less concerned about waking her up. He keeps his hand there and watches the house while a slow jam plays that sounds a lot like his relationship with Sharon. He leaves when the song ends and feels guilty for touching
Margarette. His eyes are wet and he sniffles driving away, but no tear ever falls.

  Margarette wakes up when he runs over a railroad track on the way to his sister’s house. She presses her arm against the door to sit up and looks down at her chest. Her breast is partially exposed and her top is loose. Some of what happened in the field rushes back to her. She pulls up her dress and looks over at Tommy.

  “Holy shit. It wasn’t a dream. Where the frick are we going?”

  “I told you I don’t know where you live. Thank the Lord you’re awake. I’m low on gas.”

  “Of course I’m awake,” she says. “What the hell am I doing there? I mean here? Fricking hell… my head hurts.”

  Tommy looks at her. “Where should I take you?”

  “Where are we now?”

  “Near the airport.”

  “I live a few miles away. Go down Covenant.”

  “My sister lives a few blocks from here.”

  “What?” she mutters confused, not realizing it is an offer.

  “You could sober up.”

  “Shit… my mom thinks I’m at Alice’s house tonight.”

  “Alice Walker?”

  “Alice Cherise. Her dad’s name is Walker.” She pauses for a second. “Why are my clothes torn, Tommy?”

  After an even longer pause, Tommy turns down the radio and softly clears his throat. “You were… you were almost attacked tonight. Some guys tried to take advantage of you.”

  “What?”

  “Do you remember what you drank?”

  Margarette sits forward, fear sobering her instantly. She thinks of her evil bitch faux friends—her one friend, she corrects herself almost instantly. How could Alice do this to her? The stupidity of her actions becomes clear. She even resents correcting Tommy about Alice’s last name. She thinks about how wicked these girls are, and her lips buckle. She begins to cry.

  “Not me! I didn’t do anything,” Tommy says awkwardly, then recalls his actions.

  “What happened?” Margarette asks tearfully.

  “I found you in a bedroom and some guys were messing with you.”