Sintown Chronicles I: Behind Closed Doors (36 page)

The blond Herk dragged her by the hair back to the center of the clearing. “Give us a fuckin’ good show,” he demanded.

She tried to make her mind go blank as she unbuttoned her blouse and pulled it from her skirt. She pushed down the skirt and stumbled to her knees as she tried to step out of it.

She felt an openhanded slap to her cheek and heard the command, “Get up, you bucktoothed cunt.” She scrambled back to her feet and kicked off her shoes.

“Rip those nasty panties off, bitch. I want to see pussy."

She tried, but the fabric would not give. She froze as the dull edge of the switchblade touched her skin and the blade slid under the crotch of her panties. She heard the sound of the knife slicing cloth. Someone ripped off her shirt from behind. The switchblade ran under her panties at her right hip and the cotton rag dropped, hanging from her left knee. With a sneer on his face, the knife wielding Herk said, “It's tittie time,” and he severed each bra strap. The boy behind her unfastened the hooks and the white undergarment fell to the ground. She felt the edge of the knife lightly scrape the flesh of her left breast from top to nipple. She tightly clenched her eyes in embarrassment when she realized that her nipples were rock hard. She tightened her buttocks as the Herk behind her ran his hands over her buns and slipped a finger between her labia.

On command, she dropped to her knees. She watched the boy unzip his pants and produce his small penis. Without instruction she opened her mouth and allowed him to push his jerking appendage into it. She felt his hands cruelly crushing her breasts.

With semen glistening on her lips the switchblade wielder twisted her hair in his hand. “You have the ugliest hair I ever saw,” he sneered.

Bo opened his eyes and struggled to remember where he was. It took several minutes for his blurred vision to clear. The sight filled him with white-hot rage. Betty was sitting on a log in the center of the clearing, her legs elevated and spread obscenely apart. Her hair was gone. Two denim-clad Herks were behind her, squeezing her breasts which were already turning purple from the bruises inflicted on them. The blond-headed kid was on his knees in front of her, shaving her pubic hair. She was not resisting.

Without moving his body he rolled his eyes around and determined that no one was watching him. The Herk finished his project, put the knife in his pocket and lowered his pants. Summoning all his courage Bo flung himself at the blond, knocking him away from Betty. The Herks responded furiously, iron pipes flashing and fists crashing. A shot was fired and an iron bar against his temple again knocked Bo unconscious.

This time when he awoke, the Herks were gone. He felt Betty's naked body pressed close to his and heard her crying softly.

He touched her bald head. “You okay?"

“Yeah. You?"

“I think so,” he moaned as he placed his hands on his bloody scalp.

They dressed and somehow slowly retraced their steps back to the trail, to the parking lot and finally to the bus where the band director found them. A park employee carried them to Forsyth Memorial Hospital. They, along with a sniveling youth with a gunshot wound in his shoulder, were treated and released. A police officer questioned them at the hospital, but both Betty and Bo knew there would be no arrests, no trial, and no conviction. The Herks were sons of prominent Winston-Salem families. The whole thing would be hushed up.

While they were sitting in the emergency room, waiting for a Social Services Counselor to bring Betty a wig, Bo asked, “Did they..."

“No,” she interrupted. “Thanks to you."

He smiled gently with a mixture of pride and satisfaction.

She did not tell him that she tasted the seminal fluid of every gang member. She did not tell him that the attack excited her. She did not tell him that she tried without success to have intercourse with his unconscious body after the gang members fled. She did not tell him that twice since arriving at the hospital she had gone to the bathroom to masturbate.

Bo snapped off a foot-long twig from the huge, flowing Weeping Willow tree and tossed it into the slowly moving red water of Peter's Creek. The little stream held fond memories for both Betty and him. As children they spent numerous summer days wading in its water, overturning rocks as they searched for crawfish, and digging clay from its banks from which Betty would mold cartoon characters. He remembered her one and only effort to mold a bust of his head. It didn't look anything like him, but he said it did. She knew he was lying.

He hated the finishing plant upstream that from time to time dumped its dye waste into the otherwise beautiful little brook. He smiled as he glanced to his right at the concrete bridge carrying Glade Street over the creek. It was under that bridge that Betty showed him how to masturbate.

“Hi there."

He turned and smiled at his approaching only friend.

“Hi there, yourself. You're late."

“I walked. My bicycle has a flat tire. You sounded so excited when you called. What's the surprise you couldn't tell me about over the phone?"

“It's not that I couldn't tell you on the phone. Dad's bitch was listening and it's none of her business."

Betty sat down under the massive tree, grateful for the cool shade it provided. Bo liked the new wig he bought her. It fit so much better than the one provided by Social Services, and it looked almost natural. He also liked the way her sweat-soaked shirt clung to her breasts.

“Why don't you take your shirt and pants off until you cool down a bit?” he invited.

“I'm not wearing a bra,” she replied.

“I know,” he grinned.

She laughed. “I do believe you're beginning to develop a sexual interest in me, Bo Nading. I take it as a compliment. I wish now I had showed you my boobs back in the seventh grade."

“I was just thinking of the sex education you gave me under the bridge."

She continued her laughter. “I still can't believe a twelve year old boy didn't know how to play with himself."

“I've often wondered who taught you?"

“I think I must have read about it in a book or magazine."

“Yeah, sure. Come on, who taught you?"

Her eyes narrowed to small slits and she replied in measured cadence, “I just told you."

Bo tossed a pebble into the water. “Are you as glad it's over as I am?” he asked, changing the subject.

“What, High School?"

“Yeah."

“Not really. I'm a little frightened, having to go out on my own."

“Have you found a job yet?"

“I don't have much choice. I start working at Reynolds on Monday."

“Betty, I'm sorry. This has never happened to me before,” he said as he sat down close beside her. “This isn't the way ... I mean ... damn. I was thinking about the bridge and then you showed up with your nipples pressing against your shirt, and...” He reached for her hand and placed it firmly in his lap. “Please show me how to masturbate again."

She removed her hand from his lap, but put both hands on the sides of his face, drew his lips to hers, and thrust her tongue deep inside his mouth.

He instantly forgot about her protruding teeth. The new sensation of her tongue dancing inside his mouth set him on fire. He pressed his groin against her leg and without thinking began to massage her breasts.

Her tongue remained alive, pulsating between his lips, as she unbuttoned her shirt, allowing him to caress her naked flesh. He moaned and rubbed his groin against her with increasing intensity. He found her nipples and squeezed them roughly. She did not complain.

“Oh, God,” he cried out.

She started laughing again and, as he flopped onto his back, she asked, “Are you going to take off your shorts or put up with the sticky mess you just created? This is getting to be a habit you know."

“Where the hell did you learn to kiss like that?"

“I read romance novels."

“You must have practiced on someone."

She snuggled in his arms, leaving his question unanswered. Several minutes passed before he softly said, “Let's get married."

She quickly rolled to her side, propping on an elbow and, as he stared at her naked breasts, said, “Look, just because I..."

“No, no,” he interrupted, gently caressing her right breast. “That's one of my secrets I wanted to talk with you about. That's what I didn't want to discuss on the telephone with Dad's bitch listening."

He drew her back down into his arms and stroked her back. “After graduation last Monday night I was ready to take the job as a garbage collector, but I really didn't want to work for my dad. Tuesday morning there was a new ad in the newspaper classifieds. Tanglewood Park was looking for some grounds-crew workers. I drove out there and filled out an application. You ever been to Tanglewood?"

“Lord, no. It's too expensive and too far away."

“Not really. It's a public park now, you know. They charge two bucks to get in, but then many of its features are free. It's only fifteen miles from Winston—just on the western side of Clemmons—but I guess you do need a car to get there."

“Get on with your story."

“Well, I filled out the application and was waiting to be interviewed when this big black fella came in chewing on a cigar. He must have been close to seven feet tall and a little on the chubby side. Don't get me wrong. He's not fat. Looks strong as a weightlifter and I sure as hell wouldn't want him to get angry with me. The best part is, he is as ugly as I am."

She reflected his smile while tugging on a willow branch, causing her breasts to jiggle like a bowl of Jell-O. “Is there a point to this story?"

“Oh, be a little patient with me. I'm getting there. This guy, his name is Big Willie, asked me if I was looking for work and when I said I was he picked up my application and read it. He asked me if I knew anything about golf. I thought about lying, but decided I'd better tell the truth. Turned out he was glad I didn't know anything."

“We climbed into his pickup and drove all over the three courses they have out there. He's the greens-keeper and needs some help. He has a crew of five, but says he can't seem to keep more than three working at a time."

“This Big Willie—do you think you could work for him?” Betty asked.

“Yeah, I really liked him. He said he liked me too ‘cause I was as ugly as he is."

They both laughed.

“Big Willie wanted to be a pro golfer. He got his ticket, whatever that is, but wasn't good enough to finish in the money on the tour so he started looking for a job as a club pro. He says club professionals are a dime a dozen. Because he worked on a golf course as a boy he was able to come up with a job as an assistant greens-keeper down in Pinehurst and then moved to the job at Tanglewood."

“So what would your job be?"

“A little of everything—lots of mowing involved, fertilizing, watering, tree and bush pruning, machinery repair, cleaning and repairing golf carts—stuff like that."

“Does it pay anything?"

“The starting salary is seven dollars an hour, plus overtime, and during most of the year there is lots of overtime. Big Willie said that because I am so ugly he is willing to pay me eight dollars an hour and, if I will move within walking distance of the park, he'll pay me ten."

“I don't understand."

“He says the biggest excuse his men use for laying out of work is that their cars have broken down."

“I suppose you took the job."

“I sure did. I start Wednesday."

“That's a strange day to start."

“Not really. Weekends are the busiest times on the courses. My regular workweek will be Wednesday through Sunday, same as yours."

“What?"

“I told you I had surprises,” he grinned. “They have a gatekeeper job open at Tanglewood. I asked about it. All you have to do is sit in a little house at the park entrance and take two bucks from each car that enters."

“I'd be bored to death."

“I don't think so. There would be a lot of dead time, but you could use it for your cartooning. Perhaps you can finally take that mail-order course."

“I don't know, Bo."

“It pays seven dollars an hour. Big Willie says he thinks he can get you eight."

“How would I get there?"

“I told you I'd eventually get to the point. You marry me. We find a place to live close to the park. We ride or walk to work together."

Betty sat up, buttoned her shirt, and stared at the creek water, which was now turning from red to blue.

“After I left Big Willie, I looked at a couple of furnished apartments in Clemmons that I thought we could afford. They were okay, but then I found a doublewide trailer in Advance on two acres of land. I liked that best. We can grow our own vegetables if we want to. It would be a fairly long walk to the park, perhaps two miles, but there may be a short cut we can take behind a ritzy development that lies between the park and the doublewide.

Betty stood. “Let's walk over to the tennis courts."

“Why?” Bo asked.

“I need to use the pay phone to call Reynolds and tell them I'm not going to take their job, and you need to go in the men's room and clean up. I don't want you smelling like semen when we go to Tanglewood to check on the gatekeeper's job.

For the first time in her life, things went smoothly for Betty. The matronly blue-haired woman in the employment office at Tanglewood seemed to be expecting her, and, to speed things up, the friendly lady filled out the application as she interviewed Betty. The job normally paid seven dollars to start, the lady said, but Big Willie insisted she must be paid nine. “When Big Willie says something around here, the rest of us simply reply, ‘Yes Sir,'” the smiling lady joked.

After Betty provided her measurements for uniforms she was to pick up on Monday, she and Bo paid Big Willie a visit. Just back from mowing fairways, the huge man was literally dripping with perspiration.

“Man I could use a cold beer,” he said, mopping perspiration from his glistening face. “This must be the young lady you were telling me about,” he said to Bo as he extended a massive damp hand towards Betty.

“Yes,” Bo responded. “We've decided to get married."