Crimson Footprints (8 page)

“
You just—want to see
them?”

Carson nodded and his eyes
darted briefly, always on the alert.

“
If you don’t want to, you
don’t have to, you know.”

Lizzie shook her head. She
knew a good deal when she heard one.

“
So, let me get this
straight. I take off my shirt and you fix my grade?”

Carson swallowed. “Not for
the whole year. Just…a couple of test grades.”

Lizzie’s hands faltered at
the hem of her pink t-shirt. “But I could still fail.”

He shook his head. “I won’t
let you. Your grades won’t be the best, but I’ll still pass
you.”

Lizzie nodded, satisfied
with the answer. She pulled her pink tee up and over her head to
reveal two budding, rounded breasts, clad in a tan bra.

“
That too,” Carson said. He
glanced at the door, then led her away from it, despite it being
locked and the shade pulled. “I want to see everything.”

Lizzie shrugged and reached
around to unsnap her bra.

“
S—slower.”

With a sigh, Lizzie peeled
away the bra.

“
Give it to me.”

Carson held out a hand and
Lizzie gave him the bra over. He inspected the seams, ran a finger
along the clasp, raised it to his face and sniffed. His pants
bulged.

“
That all?” Lizzie demanded
when he handed her back her bra.

Carson nodded. “That’s
all.”

With a shrug she pulled it
back on, surprised by how easy it had been.

Mr. Carson had been her
beginning, all those years ago. He’d taught her that men lived for
their cocks, and that if you knew that you knew everything. So, she
returned to him again and again, for more than just grades. And Mr.
Carson obliged, at first for a peek, and then for a grope, and
finally, for no less than a blowjob each time.

For Lizzie, it was a short
leap from swallowing cock for a good grade to swallowing cock for
most anything. No man, it turned out, was immune to a young and
willing girl with a wet and eager mouth.

CHAPTER NINE

Architecture. It was order
in a world of chaos, sense in a world of madness. It relied on math
and science instead of grievances and emotions and rewarded hard
work, dedication and achievement. For Deena, it was the only thing
that made sense.

Some days she felt like her
grandmother loved her. Those were the times when she would welcome
Deena, fix her breakfast and fawn over her. They’d talk about
whatever projects Deena had planned and the day she would open her
own firm. Her grandmother would be so proud of her, tell her how
smart she was—as smart as her father.

Then, there were the other
days. The days when she looked at her with disgust, spitting
venomous words about the similarities between Deena and her
mother.

She hated those
days.

Standing in her
grandmother’s kitchen with the sleeves rolled up on her crisp white
blouse, Deena grated cheddar for the mac and cheese. She and Lizzie
were alone this Sunday, chatting as they waited for their aunts and
grandmother to return from a run to the store. She was careful to
keep the conversation light—no school, no family, no expectations
for the future. So, they stuck to music and movies and other things
that didn’t matter. And as they talked, their cousin Keisha arrived
with two of her four children in tow, and the father of the eldest,
Steven “Snowman” Evans.

Deena’s back was to the
entrance of the kitchen—a gaping squared-out hole in the middle of
puke green walls. So she didn’t see Snowman until it was too
late.

“
Deena, my favorite girl,”
he said, his voice throaty and intimate at her back.

Snowman was a tall and
brawny creep with a pool ball head and deep toffee skin. His
moustache and beard looked penciled-in, while his fronts glittered
with diamonds. Most days he wore an oversized white t-shirt with
the hem near his knees and jeans he was forced to hike up. He was
the sort of guy that a girl kept an eye on, unsure as to why, but
certain it was needed.

“
Steven,” Deena
said.

She could feel the eyes of
Keisha on her back. Whenever Snowman was around, she clung to him
like asphalt to earth.

Snowman inhaled. “Damn. You
always smell so good.”

Deena swallowed. Her skin
begged to flee.. And she could smell his breath, too, beer and
tobacco early on a Sunday afternoon. Either it or he made her
stomach turn.

“
Please. Move.”

She closed her eyes,
desperate to control the tremble in her voice. “Please,” she
repeated.

These were the times when
she hated herself. When her body shook and fear kept her from doing
what was right. Then, more than ever, she hated herself.

“
You want me to beg for it.
I know you do.” He released a tremulous exhale, his voice a tease,
and God help her, he touched her—fingertips at her arm.

“
And you still a virgin,
aint you? Yeah.”

He trailed icy fingers along
her elbow as though they were the only two in the room. “Tight like
a virgin.”

She had nothing but a flimsy
aluminum grater in one hand, knuckles blanched from clenching, and
a nub of cheese she’d shredded to nothing.

Finally, Keisha
spoke.

“
Snow?”

Nothing.

“
Snow!”

“
What?” he
barked.

Deena kept her eyes on the
sink. But before Keisha could answer, they were interrupted by the
clamor of Hammond women returning from the store. Deena finally
turned to face them—and Snow.

It was no surprise to her
that Emma, Caroline and Rhonda were met by a wholly re-imagined
Snowman, who greeted them with hugs while taking their bags. He
called Caroline “mom” and Deena’s grandmother, “grandma.” The
exchange with Rhonda was stiff but civil.

“’
Lizabeth, there’s a girl
outside asking after you,” Grandma said, still glowing from
Snowman’s affections.

Lizzie stood. “Did you catch
her name?”

Emma shook her head and
Lizzie dashed out.

Deena’s grandmother turned
on her. “Put these here groceries away. I need to get off my
feet.”

No sooner did Deena turn
than did Keisha grab her wrist.

“
You better learn your
damned place when it comes to Snowman.”

Deena stared back,
wide-eyed, her grip tight on her arm.

“
I don’t want him,” she
hissed. “And you shouldn’t either.”

Keisha’s gaze narrowed.
“Stay away from him, Deena. Last warning.”

“
I will. You don’t have to
worry.”

Keisha heaved Deena’s arm
aside leaving her to rub it absentmindedly.

“
Worry? You’re the only one
who should be worrying. The last time a girl was here to see that
slutted sister of yours; it turned out to be a fifty-year-old
man.”

Deena stared, blinking her
way to comprehension. When it came, she dashed out after
Lizzie.

A cherry red Escalade with
custom spinning wheels, a scantily clad teen in a scoop neck tee,
and as Keisha had predicted, a paunch-bearing, middle-aged man,
with a receding hairline, were there to greet Deena before Grandma
Emma’s house.

Lizzie leaned against the
door of the Escalade and giggled as the black with a severe widow’s
peak ran a finger down the crease between her breasts. Deena
stormed them, outrage without surprise, disgust without disbelief,
fueling her every step. Down the walkway she tore, shouting her
sister’s name, and when she reached them, Deena snatched for Lizzie
mightily.

“
What the hell is going on?
There was a girl out here! Grandma said there was a
girl—”

“
This is my friend,” Lizzie
said.

“
Your friend?”

Deena wondered where in the
hell a fifteen-year-old girl met a dark and thickset old man with
fish eyes, kinky facial hair and a pop-up belly. And better yet,
what would make her call him “friend.”

The man offered a corn
yellow grin. “Normally I don’t respond to shouting, but since
you’re so pretty, I’ll do you a favor.”

He extended a calloused
hand. “The name’s Larry Wilshire.”

Deena’s gaze narrowed. “Are
you aware that fucking a fifteen-year-old is illegal, Larry
Wilshire?”

“
Baby girl, they ain’t got
a cell big enough to hold all the guys they’d round up behind this
fifteen-year-old girl.”

He laughed. And when he did,
Lizzie joined him.

“
I—I’ll tell you what,”
Deena said. “How about I have the authorities give you a call? They
can shove you in the cell first and see about fitting the rest
later as far as I’m concerned.”

“
Woo woo, Deena’s getting
some nerves,” Lizzie jeered, wrestling free of her grip.

Deena rounded the fat
Escalade, dug out her phone, and punched in the tag
number.

Larry joined her around
back.

“
Listen, why don’t you take
that phone, punch in my number, and make plans to go out with
me.”

His indifference was
staggering. Unable to speak, Deena snatched her sister a second
time and dragged her indoors.

“
What the hell was that,
Lizzie? What is he? 40? 50?”

Deena shoved Lizzie into her
bedroom.

“
Girl, stop trippin’. I
aint tryin’ to marry the dude. Just having a little
fun.”

The teen turned on her
sister, arms folded. Once again that day, Deena gawked at the hot
pink baby tee with its spill over cleavage and the tiny shorts
she’d coupled with it. Pink Converse and hoop earrings rounded out
the ensemble.

“
Where in the hell do you
get these clothes anyway?”

“
My
friend
bought them for me.” Lizzie
collapsed on her bed.

“
Your friend, huh? And what
does he tell you? That he loves you? That you’re the only one for
him?”

Peels of laughter erupted as
Lizzie rolled onto her belly.

“
Don’t be such an idiot,
Deena.”

She dug into the miniature
pocket of her shorts and retrieved a pack of Juicy Fruit. She
unwrapped a piece and stuck it in her mouth, before tossing aside
the packet. Lizzie plopped down on her bed.

“
He told me that he’s got
money. And that’s exactly what I want to hear.”

Lizzie fluffed her pink
pillow and stretched out on her back. Hands folded over her
abdomen, she crossed her legs and bounced a foot midair.

“
Money? Money for
what?”

Lizzie shot her a look of
impatience.

“
Same thing you need it
for.
Stuff
. I see
you got Gucci and Prada. I’m a get mine, too.”

“
Gucci and Prada are my
reward for hard work,” Deena said. “Damned hard work.”

“
Well, I work hard for
mine, too.” Lizzie said. “Damned hard.” She took a glimpse at
Deena’s face and laughed as if delighted.

“
And how do you do that?
Cause I don’t see any job uniforms around here.”

The teen grinned.

“
Girl, I’m wearing
it.”

Deena’s stomach pitched. The
room was suddenly too tight and bright, with all of its hot pink
and fuchsia, coral and salmon. How could a girl, a child with a
Hello Kitty throw on her bed and a mammoth collection of
teenybopper posters, talk like this?

“
I can’t do this,” Deena
said. She threw up a hand. “I can’t listen to this.”

Lizzie stared at
her.

“
Look, it’s not that big a
deal. The way I figure it, you’re gonna have sex anyway. So, you
might as well get something for it.”

Deena blinked back fresh
tears. “Yeah. You do. It’s called love. And it’s supposed to be
reciprocal.”

Lizzie shrugged. “Well what
you call ‘love’, I call clothes, purses and shoes. I want what I
want and I do what I gotta do to get it. So, deal with
it.”

CHAPTER TEN

Weather in Miami rarely took
dictation from a calendar, and this winter’s day was no exception.
The air was thick and the heat smothering as ocean waves crashed
and receded in a natural spring sonata. Sun and moon worked to
trade places in the sky as Tak and Deena walked, footprints
trailing along wet sand, faint glimmers of day receding in a
rush.

“
God, you know what? I tell
you everything,” Deena said. “And I have no idea why.”

Tak shrugged.

“
Just one of those things.
Like figuring out where we all came from, and what we’re doing
here.”