I even asked someone I thought was a good friend, a gal who had worked with me on the rodeo queen committee. “Is it my imagination or is everyone staring at me?”
She sure looked guilty when she said, “Oh, they’re just staring because you’re so beautiful. And they wish they were Miss Last Chance Rodeo Queen of 2008.”
I frowned, doubting that very much.
Then I got stuck talking to Marcus. I’d avoided him like the dentist since the Rohypnol incident so many years ago. He ambled by occasionally to talk to me in my office, but he’d moved out immediately after that incident. If he was so damned innocent of the attempted rape, then why did he agree to move out? Bit of a guilty conscience much, asswipe?
But he literally grabbed my arm and steered me toward the margarita fountain while his size zero wife rubbed her rack against some buff cowboy’s bicep. “April,” he said grandly. “So good to see you taking an interest in the Modern Committee. Let me show you the architect’s drawing of what the bowling alley will look like once it’s renovated.”
That seemed harmless enough, seeing as how the drawing was framed and mounted on a wall near the swimming pool, and other people were milling around it. I admired the architect’s vision while Marcus stood too close for comfort. I wound up inching away bit by bit until I was standing too far to really see the drawing.
A sense that something was brewing wouldn’t leave me alone. I hadn’t seen Dyno over by the silent auction tables, and there had been some uproar a few minutes ago where a few guys went rushing off toward the restrooms. But the tumult soon died down, and I was left listening to Marcus drone on about the beams and structural integrity.
Finally I said, “That’s real nice, Marcus. I’m glad I could lend my support to such a good venture. But I’d best be getting back to the party.”
When I turned to leave, though, he uttered something chilling.
The pleasant drawl vanished, replaced by a bloodcurdling snarl.
“I know your little boyfriend stole that statue.”
What? How the fuck?
Just by turning around to face Marcus, was I not admitting guilt? Someone with nothing to hide would’ve just giggled and brushed off his remark. Maybe even kept walking because it didn’t make any sense.
But I realized, just as I did it, that I was admitting guilt by turning to him with enormous, concerned eyes. Oh, and then I stupidly said, “What do you mean? Why would Dyno steal a statue?”
One, I was admitting Dyno was my boyfriend. Two, like I said… if I was innocent and knew nothing, I would’ve just blown Marcus off. Laughed in his face.
But I made the fatal mistake of falling for his bait. I think my uncle had just beaten me down psychologically for so many years. When a teen is abused, I think there’s always a part of her that thinks she had something to do with it. If only I didn’t do this, if only I didn’t say that. It was partly my fault because I led him on. That sort of twisted psychological justification doesn’t make sense to anyone who hasn’t experienced that victimization. Those who haven’t always wonder how you can feel anything other than anger and rage at the perpetrator. But regardless of how obvious that might seem to outsiders, there’s always a part of you that accepts the blame.
So I fell for it. “Why would Dyno steal a statue?”
Marcus nodded and chuckled. “So you admit your stepbrother is your lover. Nice, April. I had you pegged for a twisted sister from the get go. You’re just as loose as ashes in the wind. You’re a slut just like your daddy says.”
Some folks were close enough to hear his talk. It was my turn to take his wrist and guide him toward the pool. Around a corner here, no one could see us, unless they wanted to come and read the lifeguard’s rules posted on the wall.
I spoke with fire. “First of all, Marcus, I’m no damned slut. I only had sex with like four men before meeting Mason. That’s hardly a lot for a twenty-five year old woman. And there’s nothing wrong with me sleeping with Dyno. We love each other on a deeply emotional, connected level.” I actually hadn’t told Dyno that I loved him yet. Too scared. I was still afraid of being rebuffed in some way by him—that this was all one enormous, glitter-filled fantasy, and the bubble was going to burst any second now. “There is nothing wrong with our relationship. It’s entirely innocent, healthy, and, well, untainted.”
Why was I explaining myself to him? I owed him nothing, no fucking explanation whatsoever. Why did I feel the need to defend myself? Part of me must still feel the guilt, the disgrace and shame of having had carnal relations with my stepbrother.
But he must’ve felt he had the upper hand, because he walked closer. His presence pushed me into the wall, into the lifeguard’s poster telling people not to take glassware into the pool area. I could’ve kneed him in the groin and made a run for it, I know that now. But I wanted to hear what he was going to do about Bull Gravy. It could seriously harm Dyno’s newly minted reputation if the city heard he—and not jocks from rival Buddy Hackett—was the one who had taken the infamous statue from the front lawn of Mario Lanza all those years ago.
“Nothing wrong, eh? Sucking the cock of your stepbrother, there’s nothing wrong with that?”
“Who said anything about sucking cock? Where did you see me sucking any cock?” Stupid, stupid, stupid. I was basically admitting everything. I must’ve felt so shamed, so guilty at what I’d encouraged Marcus to do to me, guilty at what I’d made my own stepbrother do to me.
“Oh, I seen plenty,” he said ambiguously. He ran his forearm against the wall next to my head, bringing his packed crotch in close proximity to mine. My stomach clenched as it all came rushing back to me. Good thing I’d only had one glass of wine so far, and hopefully the maple bacon popcorn had soaked most of that up. I’d of seriously puked onto his shirtfront when I got a whiff of his fucking cologne—the same nasty shit he’d always worn. “I seen his hard-on when he looks at you. I seen the two of you wrassling when he’s wearing only sweatpants, how he humps you, wants you, craves you.”
“So what?” Another mistake. “We were kids. A bit of harmless romping and roughhousing is healthy.”
“Not
that
kind of romping, I don’t think.” As in days of old, Marcus’s hand clamped down over my ribcage. How could I be sorry I’d worn the form-fitting dress when I hadn’t expected him to still be drooling over me after all this time? What nerve it took to touch me after all this time. The last time he’d done this, lives had been ruined. He was the only one who got off scot-free. Even my dad must’ve suffered, knowing he was willingly covering up for such a scumbag. He was turning a blind eye to his daughter’s abuse for money. He didn’t want to rock the financial boat with Marcus. “Course, I don’t blame the horny young buck for wanting a piece of these titties. Just as juicy as ever, April. You can ride any horse in my string any time.”
“Marcus,” I said feebly. “Your wife. You shouldn’t be touching other women when you’re married. And I shouldn’t—”
With a deep groan, my uncle clutched my entire hooter in his hand. That had always been his thing—my breasts. He massaged it like he was kneading pizza dough, fully and completely, with no finesse at all. He had always just mauled me, and nothing had changed.
“Agh
,” he groaned like a caveman. “Your tit’s as juicy as a peach. Just makes me want to take a bite.”
When he bent to do so, I shoved him by the shoulder, throwing him off balance. You should’ve seen the
look
he gave me—like
I
was the one in the wrong! He wiped his mouth off on his sleeve like I was contaminated, and he snarled, “Miss Uppity, are we? You’re going to be singing a different tune when your daddy gets wind of the perverted, sick things you’re doing with his wife’s son. And when my good buddy the mayor gets wind of the perpetrator behind the statue theft, well, you’ll be
wishing
you’d given me five minutes of pleasure.”
Of course that struck terror in my heart. I mean, we were going to have to tell our parents eventually. I just wasn’t prepared for it to be so soon, and in such an abrupt manner. If Marcus was the one to enlighten them, the story would’ve been so sordid it would have dripped with bile. Just
beginning
to imagine an event like that struck me clean to the bone, and I held up my hands. “Whoa, whoa, there, Marcus. Why are you doing this to me? I’m your own flesh and blood, your own fucking niece.”
He got some of his swagger back. “Yeah. My own
fucking
niece. And I’d like to get me a piece of that cunt. Shall we set a date? I heard you moved out of Mason Simon’s place and into your own over at Quarry Cave House. Let’s say I drop by tomorrow morning before you’ve got a chance to wake up? I could pretend to be the milkman bringing cream, and you’re the innocent lil’ girl whose mommy has gone to work, telling me you don’t have enough money to pay—”
“
No!
” I even stamped my foot—not a good way to show him I wasn’t the naïve little victim he wanted to see. “No,
Uncle
Marcus. This has gone on long enough. You’ve been terrorizing me for years and it stops now.”
He shook his head knowingly. “I don’t think so, pumpkin. Between me informing Cliff his daughter’s been bumping uglies with his wife’s degenerate son and me informing Sal Bundy who really took his irreplaceable statue, your precious Mister Dynomite is going to be in the bad books of the entire town for quite a fucking while. Wouldn’t be surprised if he even got booted from the CCPRA.”
I had to think about that one. Would I want to be responsible for ruining Dyno’s career—a
second time around
? Marcus had me between a rock and a hard spot and he knew it. And while I sat there pondering, he was coming at me again, hands on both knockers this time. He mauled me like he was dribbling two basketballs, giving me no time to think.
“Ah, there we are, my little girl, all mine. No one else is going to touch these precious mounds, these juicy globes of sweater meat. You’ve been tantalizing me for years with these puppies, April. Now it’s time to let your uncle suck and nurse to his heart’s content.”
And he tore my neckline down so viciously I heard a
rippp
.
He dove right in, guzzling between my uplifted boobs. I shoved and shoved at his shoulders but it was like his mouth was glued to my cleavage. He was one of those suckerfish with its mouth pasted to an algae-encrusted rock. When his Klingon mouth moved to latch onto a nipple, that’s when I lost it.
I screamed.
It came tearing out of my lungs like I was some savage Cro-Magnon lady protecting her young, fending off a wild wolf. I’d never known I could scream that loud, with such force. It was almost like I
wanted
people to come running, to witness Marcus at his absolute lowest, fallen prey to his basest urges and cravings.
Weird thing was, it didn’t stop him. He kept tonguing my nipple like I’d stuck it through a glory hole in an adult theater.
The first men on the scene were a couple cowboys I knew, rodeo buddies of Dyno’s. Naturally, they took one look at Marcus buried in my chest and me trying with all my might to shove him off me. One cowboy took one pf Marcus’s arms, another took another arm.
That’s how they were holding Marcus when Dyno came rushing up, a staggering Sequoia in tow.
“You slut!” Marcus was yelling for all the world to hear. “You’ll screw your fucking stepbrother sixty-five ways from Sunday, you’ll eat your stepbrother’s seed faster than a scalded cat but you won’t give your uncle any sugar?”
“That’s enough, Marcus,” said one cowboy sternly. “Let’s get you home. You’ve had too much to drink.”
He hadn’t, really. I’d seen him sober as a gopher on many occasions when he’d just taken it into his mind to guzzle my breast milk, or whatever pervy shit he was attempting. So there I was, stuffing my boobs back into my torn dress probably looking like a hurricane had just blindsided me, shrieking, “The fucking issue here is what a sick, deranged degenerate
you
are, Marcus!” I was proud of myself for not denying the bit about Dyno. What had I to be ashamed of? People were going to find out eventually. I pointed a stiff arm at my uncle. “He’s the one who’s been mauling me for years now, and I never could complain to anyone because he owns more than half my ranch!”
“Let’s take it into the office, April,” a cowboy said warningly. Olivia stood gaping at me—I’d never told her about Marcus. She was such a blabbermouth I might as well have rented a billboard alongside the interstate for all the good that would do. And keeping that secret was our family’s essential dirty laundry. It was absolutely vital that no one know what a sicko this upstanding pillar of society was.
“Fine with me!” I spat. “I don’t care if the entire world knows this perv’s been molesting me for years. And I don’t care if everyone knows I love this rude, outlaw cowboy, Dyno Drummond. Go ahead! Make fun of me! I don’t care anymore!”
I glimpsed Dyno’s face just for a split second before Sequoia stepped in front of him. His face was definitely proud, full of wonder, as though he
admired
me. Other people were piling out now, drawn by my screams. Mason Simon was there with the tennis pro. Lawson Willard was there, on vacation from his law practice in New York City, still limping from the bareback injury so long ago. But Dyno was definitely shining his handsome face at me. His admiration glowed through the bitterness, the regret, the jaded cynicism he’d developed over the years.
It glowed through pure and simple, and I didn’t for one second regret having screamed. And then Sequoia took over. And he had a gun in his hand.
I recognized it as the revolver we’d been using to shoot at the hay bales, although I knew he had a dozen more around his house. At first he waved it in the air. “You threatening my best friend, you fucktard? I’ve seen you out there pretending to ride around the pasture. You can barely sit in a fucking saddle. And you’ve been molesting my best friend forever, April Pleasure?”
“I ain’t threatening no one, you fucking gas huffer!” yelled Marcus.
Lawson shouted the obvious. “He’s got a gun!”
Several people gasped and drew back. But most people stayed, whether out of a perverse fascination with the scene or plain old slow reflexes. A dozen people now stood like proverbial deer in the headlights, gaping.