Read Margarette (Violet) Online
Authors: Johi Jenkins,K LeMaire
Margarette (Violet)
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
.
1
Chapter 2.
Social Butterfly
..
18
Chapter 6.
Under the Bleachers
.
70
Chapter 11.
Spoiled Dinner
.
148
Chapter 14.
First Day at the Five Star
.
186
Chapter 15.
Toasters and Televisions
.
199
Chapter 16.
The Foundling Wheel
209
Violet
Part 1: Margarette
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 early 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.”