A Wicked Choice (5 page)

There, there
, thought Mac, purring with robustness while licking my fingers vigorously with his raspy sandpaper of a tongue.

Easy does it
, cooed Jack, pulling my left hand towards his head with one outstretched sharp claw. He watched his brother’s passionate grooming of my right hand and stretched his tongue tentatively towards my cheek.
Disgusting
... He pushed his head under my fingers.
Simply disgusting, grooming these hairless wonders.
 

I chuckled quietly at his revulsion and let these two fine felines soothe me into a restless sleep.

The next day, Cam was the picture of sweetness as I got ready for class. He brewed my favorite tea; Mountain Tea Song, a sweet mixture of green tea swirled with fragrant jasmine flowers, and handed it to me with a huge organic blueberry bran muffin, dripping with butter and honey.

“Why so sweet?” I asked shyly, reaching for the muffin with a smile.

“Oh, no reason,” he answered, grinning back at me. “I guess I just decided to man up, change my schedule, and look forward to a weekend away with my pretty Chérie.”

I sure didn’t feel pretty. I criticized myself on a daily basis. But I gamely said, “Why, thank you. I look forward to it, too, and will try hard not to think about that stupid fundraiser.” I pursed my lips and made a sour face.

“I heard the cats jump on you last night,” he said. “Why do you put up with that?” He gave a small chuckle.

Hearing him, I was reminded of the disturbing fingers and whispering taunts that crept up my arm last night. I shuddered at the thought. “Cam?” I brushed my fingers along his strong arms, delicately tracing the golden hairs. “Do you ever feel things…strange things…like weird darkness trying to get at you?”

“What are you talking about?” He glanced over at me with a perplexed frown.

“Oh, I woke up last night after we first fell asleep. I felt there was something in the room with me…something creepy, trying to get my attention. I think the cats jumped on me to chase it away.”

“So those two cats are now ghost busters?” Cam turned to me and smiled. “I hardly think so. They probably wanted a midnight snack.” He ruffled my hair affectionately and turned to get a glass out of the cupboard. “Don’t worry about it, babe, it was probably just a bad dream.” He opened the Frigidaire and took out a carton of orange juice.

“Yeah,” I replied, unconvinced, and reached down to scratch Mac’s head.

More
, Mac purred.

The sound of Porky Pig stuttering “
Th-Th-Th-Th-Th-That's all, folks
!” made me spring for my Guatemalan bag, pushing things this way and that to retrieve my cellphone.

“Hello?”

“Chér, it’s me.”

“Hi, Z!  What’s cooking?” Zuri Davidson was my best friend. A mahogany-haired beauty, with a Rubenesque womanly body, deep set summer sea eyes, and a slightly crooked smile, she had been my closest ally since we were 20. We gabbed, gossiped, supported, and shared as we sipped tea downtown or shopped thrift stores and boutiques for clothes.

“Well…” She stretched the word out, full of suspense. “I’ve got these two tickets to go see the Sungods tonight and wondered if you would like to go with me.” Zuri and I loved to go out dancing on the weekend while Cam was in his groups.

“I’d love to! Cam’s at work tonight so I can swing by after dinner, and we can go from there.”

“It’s a deal! We’ll work out the details this afternoon. Ta!”

Cam looked over with a grin on his face. “You two Wonder Women going out on the town again?” 

“Looks like it. You can meet up with us later, if you like.”

“Nah. Not tonight. I’ll probably be bushed after group. I’ll see you when you get home. “

He gave me a quick hug and rushed out the door.

In the stillness of the big house, I wandered into the living room and fell back onto the oversized couch. A gift from Cam’s grandma, the couch was a puffy sectional of soft green fake suede, inviting languor. It was the perfect perch to mull things over. I looked out at the evergreen trees and sky. A soft mist left water drops lining the branches, twinkling in the sun that peeked through the clouds. A ruby-throated hummingbird darted to the feeder and took a dainty sip before zipping away like a tiny rocket. A red-tailed hawk circled in the distant sky. The moment encouraged peace and contemplation.

I thought about the shadowy fingers, the whispery voice. What were they trying to tell me? What were they?  Who were they? I thought about calling my mother over in Walla Walla, but what would she know? And what would she do other than cluck and change the subject or tell me that I was making things up, as she often did.

Mother had been a formidable character in my childhood. A stern, chubby woman, Clarice and my father, Frank, had been married when they were 17 and 19. They’d lost their first child, Simon, to
Sudden Infant Death Syndrome
when he was only a few months old. I was born two years later. They’d thought it best to not try for another; hence, I was their only child.

We had lived in a boxy little home in the suburbs of Walla Walla on a road called Pleasant Street. There were long established trees everywhere, spreading their shade and comfort in the hot summers.

Mother Clarice, as she liked to be called, wore her blond hair in a frizzy perm most of the time. She worked at a nearby bank as a teller. Her face was usually red and rosy with sweat. Her nose sported tiny red spider veins. She tried, unsuccessfully, to cover her rolls of flab behind girdles and body shapers. Frank, a used car salesman, called her “my succulent little plumper” and grabbed her from behind when she was in the kitchen cooking her sorry-ass meals of Hamburger Helper and Rice-a-Roni. My face would redden in these moments, and I would skulk from the room, embarrassed at their display of drunken affection.

I had a dog back then, a big black standard Poodle named Doodles. Doodles liked to think of himself as my protector. When Mother Clarice and father would argue, as they invariably did each night after a few drinks, Doodles would push me into my bedroom with his nose.

You don’t need to see that
, he’d chide.
Better to busy yourself with grooming me.

He’d pick up the dog grooming kit, a box of tools over which I had no mastery, with his mouth. Then, he’d trot across the wooden floor, his nails clacking, his tail wagging, and drop the box on the bed.

“Go away, Doodles. We did that last night.”

And you STILL haven’t got it right.  I’m supposed to have a round puff on top, not a cone.

Sighing, I’d pull the sharp scissors out and snip at Doodles’ top knot. Even with my tape player turned up high I could still hear Mother Clarice and Frank arguing. Inevitably, it would end with the clink of ice cubes in a chilled glass, the gurgle of liquid pouring out a bottle spout and Mother stomping into her bedroom. Father would end up in the den, passed out in his easy chair. Only then would Doodles let me out to watch TV in the living room, with father snoring like a rumbling train and reeking of bourbon in the next room, sound asleep.

No, calling Mother Clarice was DEFINITELY not the answer, nor was talking to anyone else. As I sat there, watching the birds, and listening to the silence, I realized I was getting no further in my quest for answers. I got up and prepared to leave for class.

Teaching at the community center was rewarding. I was in my own little world when I taught. Closing the door and turning up the sound, I shut out the rest of the world. Here, I could be free. It was the only place, in fact, where I actually felt good at something, like I was doing something worthwhile. Today was the start of a new session of classes. I’d begin the day with something called “EZ Step-tastic,” a beginning cardiovascular step class for those just starting out with step aerobics. Later, I’d teach “Pump It,” a challenging, strength training class which I had personally developed, followed by an easy yoga class.

As the students filed in for Step-tastic, their leotard and sweat pant clad figures dispersing around the room, I turned to greet them. Most of them were familiar faces at the community center.

“Hello, Sally! Beth, how’re the kids? How’s Tom?” I kept up an easy chitty chatty banter as they filled the room. This was one of the only places I could do this. The rest of the time I was a graceless mess with nothing to say; sure no one would listen anyway.

Then, I noticed a new student, an elderly woman wearing a long plaid wool skirt and an oversized sweater of golden brown. Worn leather shoes poked out from underneath the folds of fabric. It was an odd costume for working out, but I had seen worse.

“Hello. Are you new?” I inquired, clipboard in hand, ticking off the names of the students. “What’s your name?”

The woman looked over at me, unblinking, with cold eyes like an eagle with a mouse in her sights. Her auburn hair, streaked with white, hung in two braids down her back. Tendrils of escaped hair sprang in coils from the cloth that bound her braids, giving her the appearance of being caught in an electrical storm. She smelled of dried leaves and sweet herbs. Her skin was remarkably unlined and taut, yet she looked as old as a Roman temple.

“Not new, not by a long shot…been on this planet a long time.”

Her response unnerved me. I stammered, “I meant new to the class.”

“I know what you meant.”  She regarded me without speaking further.

Some of the students glanced over at us, and I began to feel tiny trickles of sweat at my hairline. “Well, find a place, and we’ll begin. Just follow along – I repeat the steps over and over – and if you have any trouble we’ll work on it after class.”

“Oh, we began a long time ago,” she said softly, gazing steadily into my eyes. “And if YOU have any trouble…let’s just say we’ll be in touch.”

The hair on the back of my neck stood up as she spoke. I smiled a discomfited and uneasy grimace and strode towards the front of the room. “okay…ready? Let’s get moving.” 

“Legs apart, toes turn out, take a few deep breaths as you raise your arms up overhead,” I began. “Now reach to the side and breathe…that’s it…slow and easy. Take your time warming up.” As I focused on the warm up I hoped my voice did not sound as shaky as I felt. “Now, face the step and make an easy step tap, that’s it, step tap. One, two, follow the beat, step tap, step tap…”  I kept what I hoped was a smile on my face and took the class through a well-memorized routine. 

Filled with anxiety, I kept glancing surreptitiously at the woman in the back of the room. She stood in front of her step, arms folded, eyes trained on me like she was looking through the crosshairs of a scoped rifle. She made no attempt to follow along. I focused on the other students, trying to appear calm and cheerful, all the while feeling unnerved. Time stretched into a long, slow ribbon of molasses. I kept nervously watching the clock, observing the hands inch along, willing them to move faster.  Finally, the class was over. “And, that’s a wrap!  See you next week!” I called, feigning gaiety.  Then, I blew my cheeks out and exhaled a long, slow breath.

The students made their way back to the dressing room as I gathered up my belongings, my back to the door. When the room was quiet, I turned to head to the next class. The old woman stood right behind me. “Oh!” I jumped, straight up, the CDs and iPod clattering to the floor. “I didn’t hear you.”

She did not say anything, just kept the steady stare. I felt my solar plexus start to hum. Instinctively, I pressed my palms against my stomach, like I did so many years ago at the edge of the field in gym class.

“Don’t,” she barked, in a husky, gravelly voice.

“D-d-don’t what…?” I stuttered.  I felt like I was the tongue-tied 16 year-old again.

“Don’t try to suppress what you are feeling. Take your hands away from your stomach.” She reached out to me, and I stumbled backwards.

“What are you doing? Get away from me.”  She had backed me into a corner and there was no escape.

“I won’t hurt you. I’m here to help you.” Her voice became diffuse and seemed to come from every direction.

“I don’t need your help.”

“Yes. You do. And you will, more and more.”

God, she sounded like she was going to be my sponsor or something. I didn’t need a sponsor. And I sure didn’t need her. My teeth were starting to chatter, I was so frightened. I felt my knees start to give way, and I slid to the floor. “Please, please, don’t hurt me,” I whispered, eyes closed, mouth dry with fear.

“Hurting you is the last thing on my mind. You and I, we’ve got work to do,” she stated in firm, decisive tones. With that, she turned and waltzed gracefully out the door.

As she exited the room, Jill stuck her head around the door.  “Everything alright in here?” she called in her chirpy, sing-song voice.

“Fine…  Just fine...”  I picked myself up off the floor and brushed the dust bunnies off my rear. 

“Who was that?” Jill asked.

“Oh, just a new student…she had some questions about the routine.”

“I see. Shouldn’t you be heading for room 12?”

“On my way!”  I brushed past her and ran towards the ladies room. Kate and Sue were marching down the hall, heading right for me, arm-in-arm.

“What’s the matter, Che-e-e-e-rio?” Kate stretched my name out like bubble gum. She laughed a short yap of a laugh, like the bark of a Chihuahua. Kate was stick-skinny and dressed like something out of a magazine, all low-rise jeans and high-heeled boots. Her mascaraed eyes and kohl eyeliner gave her the distinct look of a raccoon.

“Thank you for covering for us for the FUN-raiser,” Sue quipped with her Southern drawl, intentionally forgetting to say the “d.” The phrase was iced with politeness like a frosted cake. “We sure appreciate it.” She looked out of the corner of her gray eyes, which reminded me of a trout’s eyes, giving Kate a conspiratorial glance. “We just can’t possibly make it.” Sue, slightly curvier than her slender friend, Kate, had been born in Georgia.  She still retained the slight Georgia inflection when it suited her. And, like Kate, Sue dressed for the runway, all Vogue, Harper’s Bazaar, and Glamour clad.

“Can’t talk right now….gotta get to class.” I slipped inside the bathroom door.

“The classroom’s THAT way.” They both laughed, pointing down the hall.

I closed the stall door behind me and flipped open my phone. I gathered myself together as best I could and punched the buttons of my best friend’s phone number. “Z, it’s me. I just had the strangest thing happen.”

“Sorry, love, I can’t talk right now.” Z sounded breathless and stressed. “Boss-man will be in the room any second now. You can tell me all about it when I see you tonight. Gotta go... bye.”

I heard the phone click, and the line went dead. I left the stall and skulked over to the sink.  Splashing water over my face with shaky hands, I tried to regain my composure. This day was getting truly weird. I did not know how I was going to make it to the evening. Standing there for as long as I could, I was grateful that no-one else entered. Then, taking a deep breath, I left the bathroom and trotted to my next class. Thank the stars that I could lose myself in movement.