Julian: A Dark Angel Series Companion Novella (Dark Angel #3) (9 page)

“So one day my father catches me, dressed in my mother’s church clothes parading in front of the bathroom mirror. He beat me to a pulp, leaving me for dead. It was the last time I ever saw that sick bastard.”

Penny’s horrific life story could only be heard with a bottle of Tequila and two shot glasses. There were parts that had me in stitches and others that made me want to wring the neck of the man who brought her into this world.

We have been sitting at the bar for almost three hours, playing a game of ‘let’s take turns telling our tragic stories’ followed by a strong shot of Tequila.

“Okay, my turn,” I slur.

Penny enjoys being asked questions, unlike me.

“So, what exactly is happening down south? Do you like men or women?”

A laugh escapes her mouth, almost spilling a peanut she’s eating. “Don’t have the money to get frankenweenie chopped off and I’m all about the man.” She slides closer to me before grabbing my forearm and laughing off her comment. “Sweetie, you are drop dead gorgeous and I am certain that any woman that’s been near your ding dong has been sat..tis..fied.” She clicks her fingers, then gracefully pours more Tequila into her glass.

“Penny, I’m all about the pussy. No offense.” I chuckle.

“Sweetie, no offense taken. But if you need a good whack up your backside, you know where to find me.”

The thought made me squirm, in pain, not pleasure. I wonder if Eric would be interested.
For god’s sake, Julian, do not play gay matchmaker, that is such a chick thing to do!

Curbing my curiosity, I ask the question that’s been bugging me for days. “So what the hell is up with you and Jerry?”

“Urgh, he is such an immature little brat who needs a sitting in the naughty corner to think about his actions,” she complains.

“What’s his story?”

“I’m not certain on the details, only what Fred has told me. He was beaten by his brothers when he was younger. Happened for years and apparently they would make him lie to his parents that kids in the neighborhood were doing it. The sick thing was that they would do it in front of other kids to show off. Kinda like a bet.” She slams a shot of Tequila down, wincing as it burns her throat. “So one day he was so badly hurt that he was rushed to hospital. He told his parents everything but they refused to believe him, so when he was twelve or something he ran away to live on the streets.”

“That is fucked up. How old is he?” I couldn’t help but feel sorry for Jerry after Penny’s tell-all story.

“I think he’s like twenty.”

“He looks so much older,” I wondered out loud.

“The streets will do that to you. Okay, enough serious talk, are you up for some fun?” she asks with a devilish grin on her face.

“Sure, Penny Tration, lead the way.”

An hour later we are sitting at a table with Hazel and a room full of people playing bingo. The last time I played this game was probably in the eighties with my grandparents and their old-folk friends at the nursing home. The only thing that changed was that I was now full of Tequila. Bingo and Tequila equaled a very entertaining Thursday night. Unlike me, Penny holds her liquor without too much drama. When she yells out bingo, I burst out into a fit of laughter that causes everyone to turn and look at me. I’m not sure what was so funny, but I couldn’t stop, and it wasn’t long before Penny and Hazel join in, which only adds to the hilarity of the situation.

…

“So let me get this straight, you were out all night drinking Tequila and playing bingo with a drag queen?” Tristan questions, scratching his head in confusion.

“I never said ‘drag queen’!” I yell defensively.

“Okay, tranny then?”

“I don’t know, I probably should have asked when it was appropriate to ask,” I admit.

“When is it ever an appropriate time to ask that question?” Tristan snickers.

Sitting up from the couch, my head is ready to explode. “When you’re playing truth and on your fifth shot of Tequila. Anyway, what the hell are you doing here?”

I didn’t notice it earlier but Tristan has two Starbucks cups sitting on the table. I grab one and take a sip, hoping it will cure my pounding head.
Mmm
…fresh coffee.

“Eric’s gone to New York for a few days so I thought why not spend time with my favorite uncle!” he cheers.

“I’m your only uncle,” I point out.

“And a great one at that.” A cheesy grin is plastered on his face. Not immune to his buffoonery, I shake my head with a smile.

“Aw shucks, kid, nice spiel. Now, what do you want?”

“Nothing.” He smirks.

“Okay, so what’s been happening at Eric’s?”

Tristan’s shoulders perk up like a meerkat on watch. “What do you mean? Nothing’s happening.”

“Geez, don’t bite my head off. I was merely asking how things were going,” I huff.

“Sorry. Good, great um it’s fine. Eric is busy a lot with work and stuff.”

“Sure. I know when he worked in New York for Charlie they were inundated with new clients. LA must definitely have its share of work with all the celebrity shit that goes on round here.”

“Yeah, he tends to come home late and is such a bitch when he’s tired. Take, for instance, last night. I cook this awesome meal and all he does is complain that he has a headache and then goes straight to bed. I slaved over that meal for hours!” he complains.

“You sound like a married couple,” I say casually.

“Why…why would you say that?” He stumbles on his words.

“Because you sound like a married couple…lighten up, kid. Eric has his own life; don’t forget that you’re living under his roof.”

Tristan stays for the next hour before leaving to attend an audition for some infomercial. It was some crazy device that cooked meals in less than two minutes. It was laughable, but being a great uncle, I wished him luck. Again I found myself alone, anxiously waiting for a response from Mr. Grimmer. If I hadn’t heard anything by the end of the week, I was going to take the initiative and contact him. This limbo feeling was getting old.

Thursday rolls around and before I know it, I’m back sitting in the circle of troubles.

Everyone is here, chatting away about last night’s episode of Survivor, from who was deemed as playing the game to who was making alliances. It’s a lighthearted conversation and even Hazel joins in, not caring that the topic has swayed into reality television instead of the power of healing.

Trying my best to stay in the conversation, I anxiously wait for mystery girl to turn up. It’s already half an hour into our meeting and nothing. I figure she has given up; it got too hard. That thought scares me, the harm she could do to herself.

Tonight, Penny opens up about her past, her attempts to contact her family with no luck, life on the streets and her take on how people react to her lifestyle. It’s heartbreaking to hear the pain and ridicule she endures almost every day, yet she has the strongest backbone out of anyone I have ever met. She may have been beaten physically, but mentally she’s as tough as nails.

During her confession about falling in love with a married man, the door creaks and a body slips through, taking a seat at the back.

Mystery girl.

My eyes wander of their own accord, my brain following like a lost puppy. Today, she is wearing a t-shirt that says, “I like boys that sparkle.” Great, one of those vampire-loving chicks.

Her arms are visible, no jacket or sleeves to cover the scars and cuts. She is very pale, odd for living in California, but maybe she isn’t a native, or one of those folks who claims they never tan, like albinos.

Her fiery red hair is covering her eyes as she continues to bow her head. Scanning the rest of her, I stop at a shiny piece of gold that catches my attention. Nestled on her left hand is a gold band.
She’s married.

Time to back the fuck up. I turn away in an effort to clear my mind of the ray of thoughts swirling around. It’s not like I’m here to score, so who cares that she’s married?
What you feel is just genuine concern for someone other than yourself. Her scars are laid bare for all of us to see. What caused them is now piquing your curiosity. That’s all.

Penny’s loud voice distracts me. “Let’s call him ‘Mr. X’. So, we were seeing each other for about six months. I thought he was the one. He was confused, I understood that. Pushed into a life he didn’t want, married, two point four children, white picket fence, drove a Prius.”

“A Prius?” Jerry mocks.

“Uh huh. Like I was saying, he was living this double life. So one day, he tells me he is leaving all that for me. What’s a girl to think? I was over the moon! We had picked an apartment to rent. He even started bringing things over, and then one day, he vanished.”

Fred leans over and pats Penny on the back. “I tried to find him, and according to everyone he had left town with his family. A year later I ran into him at the airport, random fluke. He was there with his family and pregnant wife. I was still hurting. Why me? Wasn’t I good enough?” Penny cries.

Hazel hands Penny a box of tissues as the tears stream down her face. Perhaps her strength was masking her weakness. Her sobs were loud, ugly cries.

“Have you thought for a moment how you played a role in ruining this sanctity of marriage?” The voice comes from mystery girl.

She speaks! And sounds like she is ready to go to war.

“Of course, but honey, a man tells you he loves you, you take those words to heart. Sometimes your heart won’t see or care about anyone else,” Penny defends herself.

“Well, even though he is a right prick, he should be thanking his lucky stars he still has his family,” the mystery girl states angrily. She lowers her head, her words barely audible. “I wonder every day why he was taken from us. I wonder if there was anything I could have done to keep him alive. When I look at my son I wonder if he feels the pain I do. Sometimes I think I am healing, but then something happens, his song comes on the radio, someone walks past me with the same hair color. Or even that stupid baby soap ad that comes on where the family is hugging it out.”

The group is quiet, allowing her to voice her feelings.

“That baby soap commercial gets me every time,” Fred confesses.

Jerry and Penny nod in unison.

She tugs on her shirt in an effort to hide the nerves. “What family does my son have? How can a family be just a mother?”

Hazel speaks up. “Family is not defined by a dad, a mom, and a child. Family is a feeling, not a status. When I lost Richard and George I asked the same exact question.”

“Why didn’t you remarry or have more children?” mystery girl questions Hazel.

“I was in my early forties and having more children wasn’t really in the cards for me. As for marriage? I’ve dated other men. In fact, I’ve been together with Miles for almost four years now.”

“And you don’t want to marry him?” Clearly mystery girl has found her voice.

“Miles and I have a great relationship as it is. He lost his wife to breast cancer a few years back. He has two daughters who I love dearly. For us, we enjoy what we have today. Marriage was sacred, and we took those vows with people who are no longer here. I do love Miles, as he loves me.”

It’s like a vault is being opened and the questions, the curiosity, are laid on the table, eager to get some sort of answer.

“Do you get jealous when he talks about his wife? I just don’t get it. I never want to stop talking about my husband. He was my life…
he is my life,”
mystery girl corrects herself.

“Oh dear, no. We love to talk about our great loves. It’s a part of keeping the memory alive. I’ve spent a lot of time with her family and enjoy hearing all the wonderful stories. She was a remarkable women and I know why Miles loved her dearly. When I see Miles’s face light up talking about her, it makes me complete. She will always be a part of him and she brings out the best of him. Makes him the person he is today. Understanding the roles people play or played in our lives gives us a sense of comfort and sometimes closure on events that were beyond our control.”

Hazel walks over to the girl and puts her hand out. The girl is scared, holding back, but soon places her hand in Hazel’s and follows her to our circle where she takes a seat beside her.

I continue to watch her because something is nagging me, this feeling of familiarity, and wracking my brain is getting me nowhere. The group continues to talk about a field trip next Saturday; I pay absolutely no attention because mystery girl is watching me. She continues to stare at me, her bleak eyes shadowed by dark circles. Her eyebrows rise slightly as we continue this game of curiosity.

Around us, everyone stands. I say goodbye, breaking my gaze. Penny is warning Hazel about her fear of roosters and how if we see one on the field trip she may piss in her pants—her words, not mine.

“Julian.” The voice is beside me; she’s so close her scent of sweet candy lingers around us.

“Yes, nice to meet you...uh?” I extend my hand as a polite gesture, hoping she introduces herself.

“What’s wrong, Batman? Cat got your tongue?”

“Okay, you got me there. You look familiar, but hey, my mind could be playing tricks on me. No point hiding the obvious in this group.”