Devil Moon (11 page)

She dozed unknown minutes until a soft feminine laugh awakened her, followed by the definite sound of smooching. She was no longer alone in the bathroom.

"Oh, Wade, you always were a good kisser."

"Yeah, babe, and you was always good at everything, as I recall."

Maddie's eyes widened as she froze in place afraid to make a sound, recognizing the girly voice of Pam Wilcox and the twang of Wade Finn.

Could this evening get any worse
?

Female shoes clicked on the concrete floor. "Listen, Wade, I can't stay away too long. Just give me the stuff so I can get back to my kid."

"All right, it's just hard to resist a hot body like yours. Here it is."

"How about a little sample?"

"Sure, why not?"

A match struck and soon the sickening sweet smell of pot filled the bathroom.

Pam purred, "Mmmm....Good stuff. Here."

Maddie heard various sounds of the exchange of goods for money.

"Thanks, Wade, see you around."

"Hey, babe, how about one more kiss for old times sake."

"Sure, why not?"

Low moans issued from Pam's throat, as Maddie imagined the pair grinding their bodies against one another. Then the door opened and Pam's shoes clicked away. Maddie hoped Wade would soon follow, but instead there were small clothing noises and then the unmistakable sound of urinating.

She scrunched her face, shifted her position slightly and the toilet lid made a terrible squeaking sound.

"What the hell..." Wade zipped his pants and made the turn toward the stalls, banging the door open where Maddie huddled.

Maddie gasped as Wade squinted his eyes. "I'll be danged, if it ain't Miss High Tits Harris."

Maddie unfurled her legs and sat as dignified as possible on the closed toilet. "Mr. Finn, it sounded to me as if you were dealing in contraband. I shall call the authorities."

Wade crouched before her. "I wouldn't do that if I was you, teacher lady."

He pulled a switchblade out of his back pocket. A menacing click sent shivers down her spine as it opened. He placed the tip under her chin.

Just then a roar came through the walls of the cheering crowd and Maddie knew no one would hear her even if she were stupid enough to scream.

She tilted her head back as he applied more pressure to her skin with the blade and said, "Don't forget, I know right where you live all alone in that little house by the lake. Why, we're practically neighbors. It wouldn't be nice to call the cops on a neighbor, would it, Miss Harris?"

The sharp blade stung the surface of her skin and she imagined the steel thrust quickly into the soft tissue. She blinked back frightened tears. "No," she said weakly.

His weasily eyes speared her as the smell of stale smoke assaulted her nostrils. "Good answer. 'Cause if I even
think
you've blabbed that high and mighty mouth of yours, I'll come a visitin'. Besides, lots of the cops around here are my cousins and they might not take kindly to you causing trouble for one of their kinfolk. So, you don't know a damn thing about Wade Finn. You got that, Miss Harris?"

Maddie swallowed. "I've got it."

Wade stood, put the knife back in his jeans' pocket. "Been nice passing the time with you. Reba's waiting for me. Or she better be. See you around. Oh, and I really do appreciate you helpin' my little girl the way you do. 'Night."

Wade closed the door, leaving her as he'd found her. Maddie began to tremble, her ankle throbbed and she thought she might throw up. Raucous noises of cheering fans and brassy music blared through the walls.
Another fine mess.

The lavatory door banged open again and this time she screamed. "Ahh!"

Phil's arms came around her, lifting her out of the enclosure. "Okay, sweetheart, let's take a look at that ankle."

Clasping her arms around his neck, she whispered in his ear as he carried her. "Please, Phil, take me out into the fresh air."

Walking through the dispersing crowd, he set her down on a folding chair on the sidelines, lifted her leg and examined the ankle. She took deep breaths, gulped the cool moonlit breeze, and tried to regain her equilibrium.

"I think you'll live." He wrapped a bandage tightly around the bulging joint.

She looked down at his wide shoulders, the top of his head. A dizzy feeling of
deja vu
momentarily overcame her. Then she found her voice. "Phil, I think I owe you an apology. I probably owe everyone in the stadium an apology, especially the referees. I can get...carried away."

Phil took a seat on the chair next to her. "Yeah, I'm beginning to figure that out. It's something I like about you–within reason." His voice lowered. "You can be a very passionate girl, can't you, Maddie?"

He had her locked in that chocolate stare of his again. "I don't know...maybe."

"Maybe we'll find out one of these days."

Randy bounced down the stairs unto the field. "Maddie, there you are! I've been looking everywhere. Time to get in our chariot and ride. Great game, Coach."

Phil helped Maddie up as she grabbed his arm and asked, "Oh, I don't even know...who won?"

He smiled broadly. "We did. 28 to 21."

The two men got on each side of her as she hooked her arms around their shoulders. Her feet barely touched the ground as they traveled toward the parking lot.

Randy grinned at Phil. "Victory is sweet."

Phil grinned back. "You said it, brother."

I generally avoid temptation, unless I can't resist it.

Mae West

On Sunday Maddie dragged around the house all day, her adrenals completely depleted by the caffeine/sugar overdose. A raging headache and throbbing ankle were added punishments for her crimes.

Her mind replayed her behavior at the game. She'd made a complete fool of herself. A mischievous twin popped out of her psyche to embarrass and humiliate her. Maybe she had some sort of personality disorder. And that wasn't the only thing to worry about. Grammy's presence was becoming more prominent all the time.

Even now her deceased relative's wavering figure stood at the end of her bed. "Yessiree, sister, when you make a fool of yourself, you go all the way. Bet they got some good shots for the school newspaper."

"Shut up, Grammy," Maddie said as she pulled the quilt over her head for an afternoon nap. She just wasn't up to dealing with ghosts, hallucinations, impending schizophrenia or whatever the visits from Grammy were all about.

* * *

Phil pulled up to the curb at Pam's house, girding himself up for another jousting match with his ex. Being her verbal punching bag seemed to be the price he paid to visit his daughter. Still, the kid had enthusiastically cheered the game last night. She'd even given him a thumbs up after the final seconds ticked off the clock and the Beaver victory was in the bag. Pam had snagged Melissa's arm and dragged her off before she could run onto the field to say good-bye.

Now he sucked it up as he stood before the faded front door and punched the bell.
No matter what the witch says, smile.

The door opened. Pam grinned broadly, hair perfectly in place. She'd traded in her slut-deluxe attire for a pastel pink floral top and white slacks. "Hi, Phil. Melissa's almost ready. Come on in."

Come on in?
Jeez, had he stepped into an alternate universe? Cautiously, he edged inside, ready for a bucket of water or something to drop on his head.

"Drink?" Pam asked.

"Uh, no thanks." He stood uncomfortably rocking on his feet.

Pam reached up around the back of his neck. He twitched in surprise.

Her fingers flipped a protruding tag into place. "Honestly, honey, you really need someone to dress you. This old Razorback shirt doesn't go with the Sooners sweats." Her voiced turned to a purr. "But, a real man makes any outfit look good."

Okay, now he knew the Pod people had taken over her body. He backed up and yelled down the hall. "Hey, half-pint, shake a leg or we'll miss the opening scene."

Pam ran a long, polished nail down his arm. "What are you going to see?"

Phil's back was pressed against the door. No more room for escape. "The latest James Bond. The opening stunt is always the best part."

She edged closer. "Gee, I haven't seen it yet."

Okay, enough was enough. He placed both hands on her upper arms and held her away. "What's up, Pam? You need more money, or what?"

"I don't know what you mean." Her cat-green eyes blinked innocently.

He released her arms. "Come off it. What's with the nicey-nicey act?"

She dropped the innocent bit and went for contrite. "You're right. I'm just not sure how to approach you. I realize I haven't been at my most gracious with you for quite a while now. You probably think I'm the biggest bitch in the world. But, I've been doing some soul-searching and have come to realize, I may have been unfair to you. For Melissa's sake, maybe we should be nicer to each other."

Phil lifted a skeptical eyebrow. This turn around in attitude could leave a guy wide open for a sucker punch. Still, maybe he should give her the benefit of the doubt. "You're right. For Melissa's sake, we should bury the hatchet and try to get along before she's totally screwed up."

"I'd like that, Phil." Pam smiled brightly.

Melissa waltzed into the living room wearing new jeans, top and tennis shoes. "Hey, Coach. I'm ready."

She'd taken to calling him "Coach," which was better than "Loser," but he hoped to get back to "Daddy."

He reached out and hooked an arm around her shoulder. "Hey, kid, you look great. New duds?"

She smiled with unguarded enthusiasm. "Yeah, Mom took me shopping this morning with the extra money you sent."

Major shock. Pam actually giving him credit for something.

"And we had her hair trimmed too. Doesn't she look pretty?" Pam glowed with maternal pride, or so it appeared.

"For sure. I'll be beating the guys off with a baseball bat any day now." Phil tugged Melissa's hand and opened the front door. "See ya, Pam. We should be back in about three hours. Don't call the cops on us."

Pam followed them out on the porch and waved as they headed across the lawn. "Have fun. Take all the time you want."

He glanced over his shoulder. Pam smiled sweetly, but he couldn't shake the foreboding she was a modern-day Dr. Jekyll-and-Mrs. Hyde.

* * *

On Monday morning Maddie found herself sitting in the back of Coach Wilcox' third period history class, having been assigned by McCall to do Phil's teacher evaluation.

Phil had dressed, for once, in an almost-matching sports shirt and slacks. He hooked one leg over the corner of his desk, fielding questions and answers from his students. With the chalkboard and flag as a backdrop, he looked every bit at home in the classroom as he did on the football field.

"What were some of the major events of the 1960's and what are some of the consequences we are experiencing today?" he asked the students.

Maddie sat ramrod straight behind her student desk, appearing on the outside as professional as possible. But inside, Phil was getting to her. The sound of his voice, strength of his gestures, and his wonderful broad chest made her want to cuddle. She knew what his arms felt like wrapped around her, even if he was just hauling her like a sack of potatoes from the football field.

His honest rapport with the students impressed her. He didn't shove dry facts down their throats, but engaged them in a thoughtful discussion of turbulent times–Vietnam, civil rights, the assassinations of the Kennedy brothers and Martin Luther King.

"What else happened in the 1960's?" he asked.

Reba Finn spoke up. "Women's Liberation."

Phil nodded. "Very good. And what impact has that had on your life?"

Reba shook her head. "Not a whole helluva lot."

The class laughed, but Maddie thought of the Finn stronghold. No, women's lib had definitely not made it to that distant corner of the earth. Looking at Reba, Maddie determined right then and there that somehow she would shepherd the girl to a better life. The Wade Finns of the world shouldn't be allowed to keep women under their thumbs.

By the time Maddie pulled out of her reverie, Phil had moved onto famous books of the sixties, recommending them for reading–
To Kill A Mockingbird,
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
,
Catch-22
.

"Miss Harris," Phil asked, "perhaps you can suggest a good book from the women's lib movement."

Without thinking she blurted out, "
Fear of Flying
."

Phil's eyebrows rose.

Back pedaling as fast as she could, Maddie said, "Of course
The Feminine Mystic
by Betty Freidan is probably a much better choice. Yes, definitely."