Part 10 (1/2)
”Achgg, frig off!” he screamed. Eddy balled up some spit as if he was going to gob it at her.
Sadie stared at him. ”Try it, y' little t.u.r.d, and you're dead.” Eddy swallowed and went back to his paper.
When I got to the top step, I looked at the pieces of gra.s.s and twiggy things Eddy had glued on yellow construction paper. Sadie chucked the melon skin into a bush. ”I hope one of 'em bites ya!” she said and went into the house, banging the screen door behind her. I was Sunday-sad again and I even had it worse because Sadie and Eddy were my only friends now if Josh wasn't around and they didn't even act like they liked me. Eddy stuck his tongue out the corner of his mouth while he added more glue. They were legs he was gluing, not gra.s.s: spiders, flies, earwigs and one moth. Around half of them were still alive; most of them were stuck by their backs and wiggling their other stuff.
”Go get me a spider.” He always tried to boss me when Sadie wasn't around to do it.
”Get it yourself.”
He glared and threw the page at me. I ”eww” ed and wiggled out of the way. It landed on the welcome mat.
”What's your beef, jerky?” That was my new comeback I picked up off Josh's mum. Eddy didn't think it was so great. ”Why do I cast my pearls before swine?” I asked the air. I got that one off my mum.
”You and Sadie, you think you're so big and Sadie super-even-more now she's friends with dork-head Sarah.”
Sarah was the girl from ballet. I almost never saw Sadie lately, not since starting at the new school. I brought Josh over a couple times in the summer but the three of them seemed different together. The last time, Josh said we should all play doctor up in Sadie's room. He explained how it worked and I never brought him again. No one was taking out or touching or looking at any of my underclothes stuff.
Sadie came back out and walked down the steps. She was carrying a purse.
”What's in your purse, lady? Kotex?” and Eddy laughed the way he usually did just before he broke something.
Sadie sucked in an ahhh and said, ”That's it! Say you're sorry or I'm tellin',” and she ran back up the steps and caught him before he could get away, slammed him down with her knee in his back and twisted his arm till his elbow went to his backbone and he yelled, ”Mae toward me, shuffle, and the apartment door open and slam. He stomped down the stairs of the building, down each one of my ribs until he exploded in a thousand tickles in my stomach.
Eilleen Seven.
OCTOBER 1974.
TAKE OFF YOUR COAT and get a drink down your gullet; steady your nerves. You get down on your hands and knees and gawk into the pot-and-pan cupboard for wine-ridiculous having to hide your own wine. Just seems like Grace is happier when she doesn't actually have to see it, though. Everybody's happier when you pretend you're not drinking-everybody's a hypocrite, all with their own crutches and they have the nerve to knock you. Stupid b.u.g.g.e.rs. You stand up with the bottle and brush crumbs off your knees, grab a gla.s.s off the shelf, pour yourself a half a one and slop burgundy back at your blouse. s.h.i.+t-dab it with cold water. You've got great t.i.ts, Eilleen. Chuck the cloth back in the sink. Screw it. You look back down, run a hand over the left one: t.i.ts'll get you a lot in this town. t.i.ts'll get you a lot in any town. You take a big gulp. Reach into your purse on the counter, pull out the white prescription bag. 25 25mg Noludar Dr. L.B. Henighan.
Twenty-five.
Should've given you a hundred, the fat f.u.c.k.
You down what's left and pour another one. It's not that big a deal. Pretty clever really-how many other women could've done it? You're no victim. You are a cunning seductress: This is the third time this month, Eilleen, I don't know that I can do anything for you. a.s.shole Henighan. If Peterson wasn't pulling his high and mighty medical pract.i.tioner routine lately, you wouldn't have had to see Henighan in the first place-him and his third-rate Hastings Street dope-fiend's paradise. Not to mention Goldberg and Chan -every G.o.dd.a.m.n quack you know is pulling this ethics s.h.i.+t, this holier than thou, I'm-sorry-but-I-can't c.r.a.p. Going to have to put together a new stable, that's all. Screw 'em.
You fight with the bottle cap. Childproof lids, only way you can get the d.a.m.n things open is to get your kid to do it. Push and lift, no push and twist and-f.u.c.k! Push and twist and lift. Huh.
Sit down at the table and pull out the cotton batting, tilt the bottle around in your hand, sip some wine and look at their little two-tone selves rolling around in there, twenty five of 'em. Little coloured cylinders, like teeny tiny c.o.c.ks. Not much smaller than teeny tiny Henighan. Only teeny thing on him. You stare into s.p.a.ce and watch black flecks float past your eyes like water bugs, until the kitchen blurs and you're standing in Henighan's examination room again, sitting up on his table with your legs crossed. Maybe we should give you a physical today, Eilleen, rather than just rattle off another prescription. A physical, he says, and starts jotting down G.o.d knows what on his clipboard, burying his first chin in all the others. Three pig-foot fingers slide the pen back in his breast pocket. Why don't you take off your clothes, Eilleen.
Wouldja quit saying my G.o.dd.a.m.n name! is what you want to say, but you just start unb.u.t.toning blouse. He puts down your chart and watches. There is no nurse in the room. He watches each b.u.t.ton slip through its hole; you raise your eyes and watch his jowls s.h.i.+ft as he tilts his head. You slide off the table and unzip your skirt, let it fall to the floor, step out of it. He doesn't say anything yet, just looks at your crotch. You look down, flesh is buckling at the top of your pantyhose, tummy's sticking out a little. S'pose I could lose a few pounds, you say. Not necessarily, he says, you've got great t.i.ts, Eilleen. You hold your head up. Well thank you Doctor, how kind of you to notice, smile like you know what's what and wonder what the h.e.l.l this b.a.s.t.a.r.d's up to. About three hundred pounds you figure, and chortle before you can stop yourself. He doesn't reciprocate, just takes two steps and puts his stethoscope to your breast plate. Pardon the cold, he says, looks at the floor; it's dead silent until his breath catches on something in his nose. He cups the metal in his palm, slides it into the left cup of your bra; his fingers wrap around as much b.o.o.b as they can get. He shuts his eyes just longer than a blink, tucks his lips together, opens his mouth and you can see his tongue flicking lonesome hungry in that fat head of his. Then you see the cost of Noludar has just gone up. Your heart sounds OK, he says. OK, Eilleen, what I'm going to get you to do is run up and down the steps and then I'm going to check your heart rate again. Steps? Look around the room and step out of your shoes. You never had to run up and down anything before. This is ridiculous, if it's a f(ee-iz)ucking b.l.o.w. .j.o.b he wants, why doesn't he just say so so you can get the h.e.l.l out of here.
He walks to a block against the wall with two steps built into one side. He drags it out. All right now, I just need you to run up and down for about sixty seconds and then I'm going to take your pulse. You might want to take off your pantyhose. And if you wouldn't mind removing your bra. Son of a b.i.t.c.h-does he have to make you look like a goof in the process? You sigh, look at him. He looks back. His face is stone with a faint twitch at one corner of his mouth. You know a put-out-or-walk smirk when you see one.
Starting at the waist, you roll your pantyhose down, trying not to look like a moose when you pull them off your toes and throw them with your skirt. You reach back and unhook your bra, let it slide forward off your arms, feel your b.r.e.a.s.t.s falling. A sound comes out of Henighan, a kind of whimper, and your shoulders crunch forward like protective dogs; there is nothing you can do to call them back. You turn to the steps, put your hands to your b.r.e.a.s.t.s, try to hold them up, keep things from drooping and jiggling.
This is, this is silly, I can't do this, you say, turn and look at him.
Just for a minute, Eilleen, one minute, he says. Keep your arms straight out to your sides.
Foolish. You step onto the first step, b.o.o.bs sway, the next step and back yourself down.
-and you step up and your b.o.o.bs stay down-feel like they're trying to wrench themselves free and leave on their own if you're not going to take them.
-and back down you go and they slap to the side, flop up and down, stupid-stupid-stupid exercise in idiocy and it's starting to hurt- -and up- -and down. They fall hard again and your hands leap to cradle them and you stop and say over your shoulder, OK, this is-I've had enough and Henighan steps fast to the block before you can get to the floor. Good girl, he says, good girl and he pulls you backward into his barrel belly, one arm round your ribs, bringing your feet down on cold tile, other hand fumbling with something, the stethoscope, over your shoulder he brings the cool metal to your chest, his breathing is getting harder in your neck. He leaves the scope dangling and jerks his hand back around and under so that both his arms are under yours, one holding you steady while the other mashes the stethoscope into your b.o.o.b. He's lurching and shoving you forward with his stomach, pus.h.i.+ng you to the examination table. Good girl, he says, good girl, listen to your heart, I'm not gonna hurt you, bend forward, put your t.i.ts on the table, oh your heart, lemme feel your t.i.ts on the table, lemme pull your panties down, but you're not wearing any and he brings his empty hand between your back and his belly, thras.h.i.+ng around back there, trying to get his belt undone, he can hardly get his breath now. Christ, what a production, all that grunting to get his pants open, trying to get it out, listen to your heart, Eilleen, let me in, let me in, and then this wee bony thing poking from behind, good girl, good p.u.s.s.y, and he starts to cough and you think it must be a finger inside until that bulbous gut thumps twice against your tailbone and there's a thin kitten mew against your back. He collapses on your shoulders, squas.h.i.+ng your face to the paper on the table, his arms splay past your ears and he lies back there, breathing, breathing. You got off, now get off, you think, but you want your G.o.dd.a.m.n prescription. You try to get some air when you realize there doesn't seem to be any in or out of him. It's dead quiet again and you feel his slow drizzle down the inside of your thigh. Hey, how you doin? you say, terrified he's had a heart attack or pa.s.sed out and you're not going to get anything out of this-or worse, you'll be left to suffocate-no one'll find you until they get enough people together to cart him away. This isn't the bang you wanted to go out with.
The water bugs come in focus and you are back in your kitchen with a pill bottle in your hand. He came to all right, did up his pants, straightened his tie and wrote 25 25mg Noludar. Should report him to the Better Business Bureau. No other man on this planet would think you were worth less than fifty.
You glance past the bottle, jabber pills around inside and bring them down to twenty-four Noludar with a swig off your gla.s.s before snapping the cap back on. The buzzer on the intercom goes. s.h.i.+t, who the h.e.l.l's that? Maybe Grace forgot her key-nah, it's just three o'clock now, unless she had another row with that teacher of hers and stormed out.-h.e.l.lo?
Hi, Mum, it's me.
Charlie?