Werewulf Journals 3: Hungry Pleasures (31 page)

nightmare he couldn’t penetrate. All he knew was the helplessness of watching her pain, the futility of reaching her dreaming mind…the brutal urge to kill whoever had caused her original agony.

Werewulf Journals 3: Hungry Pleasures

171

Whiskey Sours

Kaila drowsed in Pavel’s arms, drained and strangely at peace as the tattered remnants of her dreams knit themselves into the whole of her memories.

“Do you want to talk about it?” No pressure no demands…just a calm query of her

desires. If she didn’t already love the man to distraction, this would have assured the outcome. By way of answer, she took a deep breath and began her narration.

“Thanks to my overdeveloped body -- namely being overweight and having double D

hooters -- I didn’t have the greatest time in junior high and high school. I remembered my classmates’ taunts hurled on a daily basis. ‘Jugs, can I get some milk?’; ‘Hey, Kaila, can you dial long-distance on those babies?’; and of course, the forever hilarious, ‘I’ve heard the bigger the boat, the smoother the ride…Kaila’s an ocean liner!’ which always cracked them up.”

Pavel said nothing, just snuggled her into his shoulder, his big hand moving in a

soothing pattern over her back. Secure in his love, she kept her eyes closed as the old/new scenes flashed before her as if they’d happened yesterday.

“So I concentrated on academics, striving to excel. Being at the head of the class didn’t require good looks or a slim body. I was the typical nerd. Kept my head buried in a book every chance I got. Imagine my shock when the star and captain of the football team asked me to the prom.”

She shifted, uncomfortable with this first telling of the events that had changed her life. “Funny, the memories evaded me for so long, yet now I can recall every little

detail…how thrilled I felt, my giddy excitement at finally having a date…and for the prom, of all things.”

“Tell me,” Pavel encouraged, his low voice gruff and rumbling. She knew him well

enough now to gauge the effort he was making to remain calm, enabling her to recite the 172

Camille Anthony

traumatic events responsible for derailing her life for so long. Drawing on his courage, the sure foundation of his love, she allowed herself to drift into the past.

“I guess it started long before, but I didn’t know that, then. Science class had just let out and I was hurrying down the hall to my next class when I heard my name called…”

“Kaila, wait up!”

What did Maury Montgomery want with me? My heart skipped a beat. Maybe he

needed help with the science project. I’d be glad to study with him, if that was the case.

“So, you heard my girlfriend, Sylvia left when her father got shipped overseas?”

I nodded. Where was this going?

“Well, that leaves me without a date for the prom this Friday night,” Maury said.

“Everyone else is all paired up. So, you wanna go out with me, or what?”

The star football jock was asking me out for a date?

Shocked and giddy with excitement, I nodded, not caring I was a last resort. I’d

harbored an unrequited crush on the popular boy ever since he’d been elected freshman class president. Until today, I hadn’t thought I had a hope of even being noticed by him, let alone being asked for a date. “Sure, Maury, I’d love to!”

“Okay. Cool.” His gaze swept over my casual attire, a grimace crossing his expressive face. “Um…wear something spiffy, if you have it. My dad’s letting me borrow his Maserati.

We’ll go somewhere happening…afterwards.”

“I’ll find something,” I promised, biting the inside of my cheek as I pondered how I

would do that. Dad held down two janitorial positions: one during the morning, the other at night. Even with two salaries, the money barely stretched to cover rent and necessities like food and utilities. My three younger brothers and I shopped at Goodwill. Sometimes, we were lucky to get church hand-me-downs and were glad to have them. New clothes were

coveted Christmas presents or rare gifts from far-removed relatives.

“All right, see you Friday night. I know where you live.”

After school, I ran home and whipped through my homework and chores to get to Miss

Martha’s house before it got dark. Dad had conniption fits if any of us were out after dark without his say-so.

Miss Martha was a widow who lived two blocks over -- right where the projects ended.

She was elderly, had arthritis so I helped her clean house twice a week. She didn’t have much money, but she did have an absentee son who sent a whopping check twice a year --

guilt money, I figured -- along with notes for her to buy something nice for Christmas and birthday. She always spent some of that money on our family.

-

One year - a week before Christmas -- a brown UPS truck delive

red a huge box of

fresh fruit right to our door. I figured it was from Miss Martha, even though there was n o

card. I knew it for sure when the widow, with a kind twinkle in her eye, asked if we’d Werewulf Journals 3: Hungry Pleasures

173

enjoyed the juicy Florida oranges. I loved her, and not just because she was always doing nice things for my family.

Thank goodness Miss Martha was

a

a big wom n. I planned to shore up my courage, grit

my teeth, and ask if I could maybe borrow a special dress to wear on my date Friday.

She opened the door on the first knock. I hid a smile, knowing the elderly woman had

been standing at the window, watching the street for my arrival. “E

s

vening, Mis Martha.

I

had a load of homework, so I only have time to do the upstairs vacuuming and the kitchen.”

The old lady eased the door open a little bit more and patted my shoulder as I squeezed past, edging around the woman’s wide girth. “You such a good girl, Kaila. Not many

young’uns want to bother with old Martha like you do.”

“I don’t mind.” I felt guilty at the praise, ashamed of my hidden agenda. I shook off the feelings. I had come plenty times to help with no thought of getting anything for my work, not even thanks. “I remembered you said you had a hard ti

r

me getting up the stairs with you

arthritis flaring up lately. I’ll just go on up. It’ll be dark soon and you know how dad is…”

Miss Martha chuckled. “Don I jes!

s

That man’ a stickler fer proper behavior fe

r sure.

Old-fashioned as the day is long. Pity yore mom went and died like she did. That man lost all semblance of happy when he laid her in the grave.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I shifted toward the closet where the vacuum was. I loved it when old

Martha got started reminiscing, but I didn’t have time for that, today. I’d never be done in time to beat the sun home. Dad would ground me for a week, and I’d miss my date. “I’ll do the dusting while I’m up there, too.”

I whipped through the vacuuming and dusting, determined to do a good job as

payment for the favor I planned to ask. Leaving the vacuum running so Miss Martha

wouldn’t become suspicious, I crept into the bedroom used for storage and opened the closet door. Inside, hanging in a tight-packed row, were beaded

r

costumes f om long ago, preserved

in see-through plastic bags. I loved how they glittered and glistened, how their clear and colored beads caught and split the light. My hand riffled the hangers, set the dresses swinging as I searched through the elaborately decorated costumes. All of them looked like they would fit my plus-sized body.

The blue one…the one with the handkerchief hem decorated with tiny glass beads. I

liked the ra

f

inbow-hued bodice and the chif on layers that fell in a gentle A-line about calf

height. This was the one I would ask to borrow. Slipping it from the rack, I carefully draped it over my r

a m.

“Miss Martha, I’m all done with the dusting and the vacuuming. I’m just putting

everything away,” I hollered from the front parlor, where I was trying to fit the upright back into the broom closet. She was a bit hard of hearing.

“I’m in the kitchen, dear. Come on back when you get done.”

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Camille Anthony

Finally wedging the Hoover into its place, I wrestled the door shut and resettled the dress over my arm. Taking a deep breath, I bolstered my courage and walked through the kitchen door.

“Oh, I see you read my mind!” Miss Martha smiled big, showing the few natural teeth

she had left. She hated wearing false teeth and only pu t

t hem in when she wen t

t o church. “I

wanted to g ve you a present for doing so well in

i

school and for helping an old lady out like

you do.” She frowned. “But you only have one. Run on back up and pick out two more

dresses, baby. You can have your pick of all but the white gown in the far corner. That’s my wedding dress.”

I gasped. “O

”

h, Miss Martha…really?

“Really.”

“Thank you! Thank yo !

u I have a date Friday night and I had nothing to wear…for

real.”

“In that case, you should have some nylons and a new hairdo, too. Give me a hand up

and we’ll go gather what you need. Hurry up, gal. Daylight’s burning and it’ll soon be dark.”

Friday night, Maury showed up on my doorstep with flowers. I opened the door,

wearing my new, old blue dress, knowing I looked sophisticated and smart with my hair arranged in loose curls upon my head and my legs encased in sheer, control top pantyhose.

“Kaila, who is that on the porch?”

“It’s my date, Maury Montgomery, Dad.” How I loved saying that.

The newspa

s

per rattled a he lowered the pages to glance over the edges at me. “Michael

Montgomery’s boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, where’s your manners, girl? Invite him in.”

t

I flinched a the thought of Maury seeing our shabby furniture, but I put my shoulders back and gathered my pride around me like a cloak. “I’ll get him, sir.”

I went back to where Maury waited for my on the front porch. “I’m sorry about this,

but we have to go in and talk to my dad before we leave. Dad is very old-fas s

hioned. He’

probably going to give you the old ‘have-her-home-by-midnight’ spiel.”

“No problem, so is mine and I’ve heard that spiel lots of times.” He followed me inside and held out his hand to the grey-haired man seated in a tatty brown pleather recliner.

“Good evening, sir, my name is Maury Montgomery. I appreciate you allowing me to take your daughter out.”

Dad stood and shook Maury’s hand, offered him a seat on the couch, not seeming to

notice it had seen better days. I had covered the cushions with an old flowered sheet, and the pattern clashed with the geometric design of the faded wallpaper.

“So, where are you planning to take my little girl?”

Werewulf Journals 3: Hungry Pleasures

175

Maury’s lips curved up. I closed my eyes, wanting to sink into the floor. There was

nothing little about me. “I thought we’d take in the Electric Eel. They have a small restaurant that overlooks the dance floor.”

“Woo-wee! That’s upscale, isn’t it, boy?”

“I can afford it, sir. I want to take Kaila somewhere nice…and don’t worry, I’ll have her home before midnight. I wouldn’t want you to forbid her to come out with me again.”

My heart pounded in my chest, my pulse leaped at the thought the most popular boy in

school might be thinking about taking me on another date after this one.

I never thought to question his sudden interest. Why would I? Maury acted the

gentleman, so kind and considerate; seeing I had everything I wanted, making sure I didn’t embarrass myself by exposing my ignorance of the finer things, like which fork to use first.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”

“Oh, yes, I did!” I’d been over the moon. “I really enjoyed this date.”

Maury slowed the car and cleared his throat. “Is it okay if we head over to Wilder

Bluff? I want to kiss you, but my dad would have a fit if I trie

d anything like that while

driving.”

Me? He wanted to kiss the nerdy girl who knew more about computers and chemistry

than about the chemistry of attraction between a boy and girl?

I discovered a frog in my throat, too. “Sure, I’d like that,” I croaked, then colored up as I realized how that had sounded. “If we go to Wilder Bluff, I mean.”

“Cool.”

While I dreamed of exchanging class rings and going steady, he drove to the local

necking spot, a secluded area just outside of town. There were several empty cars parked when we arrived and I figured the occupants had abandoned their rides for a romantic walk along the creek bed.

Maury cut the car engine and opened his door. “Get out.”

I looked at him, squinted through my glasses to see his face. His voice sounded angry.

?

“What’s wrong, Maury ”

“Just get out of the car, Kaila. Hurry up.”

What on earth was the matter? I scrabbled for the door handle, missing it in my

distracted haste. My fingers finally grasped the curved metal and pulled up, but before the door could open under its own momentum, it was snatched open. Still holding onto the

handle, I fe

r

ll out of the car, awkwa dly landing on my bottom in the dirt.

“Oww! Oh!” I looked up to find myself surrounded. Seven members of the starting

football team glared down at me. “What are

”

you guys doing here? I turned my head,

searching for Maury. “Maury, what’s going on?”

176

Camille Anthony

“Yeah, Maury, what’s going on? You’re almost an hour late. What’s the matter…you

chickening out?”

Maury addressed his friends, refusing to meet my eyes. “ ust get her up on the hood,

J

damn it. I don’t have all night.”