Jailbait (20 page)

“I don't know, I guess there's something wrong with me because…” I swallow hard and speak so softly I can hardly hear myself. “Because I liked it better before we went all the way.”

Frank sighs, like he can't believe what an idiot he has for a girlfriend, and then he fishes around in his jacket for a cigarette, which means I've got a little time, since we can't exactly do it while he's smoking. Maybe we won't have to do it at all today. Which would be fine with me.

“Now you listen to me, little girl,” Frank says in a voice that lets me know I'm not going to like whatever he's about to say. “For months I've been hearing ‘I want to
make you
happy, Frank.’ And then the first time we do something that makes me happy, this is what I get.”

I don't know what to say, so I just keep mum and stare at the floor.

“What were you, lying to me, Vanessa? When you said you wanted to make me feel good, obviously you didn't mean it.”

“Frank, that's not true. You know I'd never lie to you.” I look up but it's hard to meet his eyes, since I have lied to him, and I'm still lying to him, since I don't have the guts to tell him my name isn't Vanessa.

“You know what, Vanessa?” Frank asks, striking a
match to light his cigarette. “What we do here isn't about you anymore, you got that? From now on, it's about me.”

“Isn't it about both of us, Frank?” I ask. “Can't we, like, take turns or something?”

“Turns?” Frank pitches his cigarette on the floor and stubs it out even though he's only taken one drag from it. “What do you think this is, Parcheesi?”

“Well, can't you just go a little slower?”

“I'll go slow, all right,” Frank says. Then he lunges at me and grabs me hard, right through my jacket.

“Ow! Cut it out.” I back away from him, but he follows and pins me to the wall.

“Listen, you fat little tramp …”

“I'm not fat,” I say, even though I am. “And I'm not a tramp. Frank, what is with you today?” I try to get away from him, but it's like I'm a glob of peanut butter and Frank and the wall are bread.

“Relax, Vanessa. C'mon now.” Frank softens his voice and touches me gently, the way he knows I like. “Let's just have a good time together, okay?”

“Okay,” I say, even though I don't feel like it.

“That's it, Vanessa, just relax now,” Frank says, and as soon as I start to, his voice changes. “Listen, Vanessa,” he hisses in my ear. “You're spoiled now. Used goods. No one else will ever want you. You're mine now, and you'll do exactly what I say.”

“I think I want to go home, Frank,” I whisper, because my voice is stuck somewhere down in my throat.

“I don't really care what you want,” Frank says. I start to cry, but Frank doesn't do anything, so it's true: he
doesn't really care. Then I hear something that makes my skin crawl: Frank's zipper being unzipped. He can't be serious.

“Frank, I don't want to …”

“I don't really care what you want.”

“But Frank—”

“Shut up.”

“But—”

“I said, shut
up.”

“But—”

“Vanessa, if you don't do what I say by the count of three, you're really going to be sorry. One … two …”

“All right, all right.” I bend down to undo my sneakers, unlacing them very slowly, stalling for time. This is really scary. Frank's been nasty before, but never this mean. This is
mean
mean. I guess I could try and make a run for it, but I'm not exactly in marathon shape here.

“Get down.” Frank points to the sleeping bags even though I'm still dressed.

“Frank, I don't want to….”

“Will you shut your trap?” he says, grabbing my arm and pulling it until I'm forced to get down on my knees.

I start to stand up, but Frank pushes me back down. “Not so fast, sister,” he says.

And then he makes me do something, something that makes what we did yesterday look like a walk in the park. And I want to die, I really do. When it's over, I'm in total shock, I really am. I try not to cry, but I can't help it; the tears just drip down my face while Frank gets dressed and doesn't even notice.

“C'mon, let's go,” Frank says, and I can't believe he thinks I'm just going to hop in his car like nothing unusual happened today. Then again, what choice do I have?

Frank picks up his jacket and makes his way downstairs, but then I hear his footsteps stop before he opens the front door. “Vanessa,” he calls up, “you have exactly one minute to get your butt down here. Otherwise, I'm leaving without you.”

I don't think Frank would really do that, but just in case, I stand up and race downstairs.

“Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty,” Frank counts, looking at his watch. “You're really pushing it, little girl.” We get into the car and I sit as far away from Frank as possible, which isn't very far since this is hardly a Cadillac.

Frank starts the car, and when he jams the screwdriver into the ignition, all I can think about is something else jamming into me, and then I can't help it, my whole body starts to shake. My teeth are even chattering and everything. You'd think Frank would notice and say something, like
Are you chilly, Vanessa?
or
Are you freaked out, Vanessa?
or even
Are you having a bad LSD trip, Vanessa?
But all he does is look out the window and drive. So I look out the window too. And then, right after we go through a yellow light, all of a sudden, out of nowhere, a squirrel darts into the road.

“Frank, look out!” I yell, but he ignores me, so I lunge for the wheel and pull it to the right.

“What are you, crazy?” Frank elbows me out of the way and swerves the car back over to the left and that's
when I feel us go over this bump and I hear the thud. The awful, awful thud, which is absolutely the most horrible sound I've ever heard in my entire life.

“Stop the car! Stop the car!” I grab for the wheel again, but Frank pushes me back in my seat. So I just start screaming and screaming until Frank has no choice: he either has to stop the car or have his eardrums shattered. As soon as he pulls over, I jump out of the car and run back to where the squirrel was, but it's all over. The poor thing is dead and it's all my fault. If I hadn't gone for the steering wheel, Frank wouldn't have had to swerve and the squirrel would probably have made it across the road just fine. But now it's dead. Like I wish I was.

I don't know how long I stand there and I don't even hear when Frank comes up behind me. All I hear is some idiot shrieking her stupid head off, louder and louder and louder, and until Frank spins me around and shakes me by the shoulders, I don't even realize it's me.

“Stop it, Vanessa,” he yells. “Stop it.” I shut my mouth, and the screaming ceases, but then the tears start falling. “C'mon now, there's nothing we can do. Get back in the car.”

“No.” I stomp my foot like a two-year-old.

“Vanessa, c'mon, I have to go.” Frank looks up and down the road and all of a sudden I realize he's afraid someone will see us.
Good
, I think.
Let them.

“Do you want me to leave without you?” Frank asks. When I don't answer, he says, “I'm leaving,” like he's my father trying to call my bluff and I'm some stupid little
kid who won't stop playing with her toys even though it's time to go.

“You would leave, wouldn't you?” My words come out all choppy because I'm still crying. “You'd just leave me here on the side of the road, like a … like a dead squirrel.” Then I collapse in his arms, bury my face in his jacket, and just start sobbing all over the place. Frank holds me, but I can feel he's all jumpy about this, and in fact a few cars do go by, but I'm sure they can't tell from the back of my head that I'm under seventeen. And even if they can, who cares?

Finally I calm down enough to catch my breath, and Frank takes my hand and leads me back to the car. But I won't get in. “We can't just leave it in the middle of the road, Frank.”

“What do you want to do with it?” he asks in a voice that lets me know he's had just about enough.

“We have to bury it.”

“Will you just get in the car, Vanessa?” Frank rubs his forehead with one hand.

“No, Frank, I won't.” He glares at me and starts to open his door, but I beat him to it by yanking open my door first, and grabbing his screwdriver. “We have to bury the squirrel.”

Frank stares at me but I hold my ground until he starts walking back to where the squirrel is. I follow him and we find two sticks to dig a hole with. It isn't very deep but it's the best we can do. Thank God it's warmed up a little and the snow's started to melt so the ground is soggy instead of frozen.

Frank puts the squirrel into its grave and I stand there and just look at it for a minute. It's lying on its side and I stare at its eye, which is still open. The squirrel looks shocked, like it can't believe what just happened to it. I can't believe it either.

I cover the squirrel with some dirt and some leaves, and then just stand there for a minute, wishing I knew how to say Kaddish, which is the Jewish prayer for the dead. But I don't know the words, so I just stare down at the squirrel's grave silently with Frank standing next to me. And then, just as we turn to get back in the Volkswagen, I hear a car slow down and a voice chant out the window:

Donald—I know it's Donald, since he recently got his license and he's the only one who ever calls me Dee-Dee—puts the pedal to the metal and peels out, laughing like a maniac. Frank stands absolutely still like he's in shock, but I think fast.

“That was weird, huh?” I say. “I must look like some girl named Dee-Dee from the back.”

“Let's go,” Frank says in a stage whisper, which is weird since now there's no one around to hear us. I fork over his stupid screwdriver so he can start his car and get
us out of there. We drive for a few minutes and then Frank actually asks me if I'm all right.

“No, Frank, I'm not all right,” I say. “I don't know, I don't think I want to see you for a while.”

“Listen, Vanessa.” Frank takes his eyes off the road for a split second to glare at me. “Just shut up and behave yourself.”

“You can't make me come here.”

“I can't?” Frank lets out a big sigh. “Do you ever want to see your mother's wedding ring again?”

“I don't care about her stupid ring,” I say, which is totally not true and he knows it. “Besides,” I go on, “you promised you'd give it back to me when I'm seventeen. You said.”

“Don't whine.” Frank turns onto Farm Hill Road and pulls over to the fence. “If you don't care about your mother's ring, maybe you'll care about a certain roll of film I have in my possession.”

“What film?”

“A roll of pictures of a certain girl wearing, well, she wasn't wearing very much, now, was she?”

The pictures … I forgot about the pictures. God, how stupid can a person be?
Can't a guy have a picture of his own girlfriend? Don't you trust me?
God, I am such an idiot.

“Hmm. I could make a few hundred copies and tape them to everyone's lockers at your school,” Frank says, like he's thinking out loud.

I feel sick, really sick. My stomach is clenched so tight it feels like it's inside out. “You don't even know
where I go to school,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Good old Greenwood High. Home of the infamous Greenwood Woodpeckers,” Frank says, and for some reason it really upsets me that he knows the name of our stupid football team. “Go, Peckers, go! Go, Peckers, go!” Frank cheers with one fist in the air, then lets out this really mean laugh. “I know all about you, Vanessa.” Frank draws out the word
Vanessa
in a way that makes me think he knows it isn't my real name. “I know where you live, I know what classes you take….”

“You do not!”

“How do you know what I know and what I don't know?” he asks. I start to cry again, but Frank couldn't care less. “Don't you get any big ideas in that little head of yours about not showing up tomorrow, you hear me?”

“Yes,” I say in a tiny voice.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Frank.”

“Good. I'm glad we understand each other, Vanessa. See you tomorrow.” And then before I can even get my car door open, Frank leans over and kisses me. Hard. On the mouth. I try to pull away but he shoves his tongue between my lips and moves it around like a big fat worm. If I had any guts at all, which obviously I don't, I would just bite it off. But I'm such a wimp I'm never going to tell on Frank, and he knows it. Frank's right. I belong to him now, just like he said. I'm spoiled. Used goods. No one will ever want me after what happened today. Not that it matters, since nobody ever wanted me before, anyway.

Today I just couldn't take school anymore, so I cut out
early and came down to stand by the fence and wait for Frank. I was hoping Bessie would be out so I could talk to her, but she isn't, so I'm just standing here tearing at my split ends and thinking things over. Like maybe I should run away. From Frank, from Fred and Shirley, from everything. Just think what it would be like to never see Donald Caruso ever again. I was pretty nervous about seeing him after what happened yesterday, but luckily he was absent. It's the last day before vacation, so a lot of kids didn't bother coming to school.

Anyway, if I did run away, how far would I get? I
don't have a lot of money besides my birthday loot, which isn't all that much. I guess I could get more loot by raiding Shirley's pocketbook. It's always on the kitchen counter, so it wouldn't be so hard to empty her wallet while she's in the living room watching one of her soap operas. Not that I want to steal from my own mother. That's much worse than shoplifting, even I know that. I could always pay her back later, I guess. So it would be more like borrowing.

But where would I go? Maybe into the city. It's pretty easy to get lost in the crowd in New York, but where would I sleep? Like I said, I only have a little over a hundred dollars, and even if I do take money from Shirley, it's not like she keeps a small fortune in her purse or anything; it's more like fifty or sixty bucks.