The Price of Candy (25 page)

By then the woman’s face had turned even more
terrible. Her face appeared crushed and scratched on one side from
her eye to her lower lip. The eye began to close up. It was already
an ugly purple blotch and was beginning to swell. Blood dripped
from her nose and one ear down onto her white jeans. The woman
tried to focus her other eye. She moved her hands around the
sidewalk trying to find her purse. I handed it to her. She fumbled,
found her keys, and said weakly, “Her stuff’s in the back
seat.”

Betty Jo stood over her. “And I want the
fifty bucks I gave you for gas!”

The woman spit out blood before answering.
“Don’t have it any more,” she sputtered in a weak voice.
“Spent...for gas.”

Betty Jo leaned over nose to nose with the
woman and shouted in her face, “Nobody fucks with me, woman!”

She grabbed the woman’s purse and violently
shook it upside down. The contents scattered like marbles over the
sidewalk, the curb, and under nearby cars. Betty Jo picked out the
money, sorted out fifty dollars, and threw the rest of the money
and the empty purse hard into the woman’s chest.

Betty Jo’s yelling had drawn attention and a
crowd began to surround us. I took her aside and gently pointed out
that since she’d just severely assaulted and possibly disfigured
the woman for life, it might be best to forget about making any
charges. Betty Jo was still breathing heavily but she nodded. The
crowd stepped back hastily to clear a wide passage for her as she
started to walk away. Then she turned and gave the woman the
finger.

I stood there shaking. I tried to comfort the
woman, but she shrugged me away. Betty Jo straightened her
shoulders and walked serenely into the building. I carried her
suitcase and coat back to my car.

So, she hadn’t been lying about being robbed
and stranded up near Richmond. How about that. She was not out
hitchhiking along the highway without any resources. She had lied
about having a disabled car to get the ride because she was
stranded, but not about being robbed. I sat another twenty minutes
wondering about Betty Jo, and fully expecting the police to tap on
my window at any time.

What was I doing at a truck stop in
Jacksonville waiting for orders from this woman? I really didn’t
know. That’s when I thought I heard the wail of a siren in the
distance.

Betty Jo came running out of the building
panicky. She raced up to the car and screamed for me to get out of
there fast. I’d already seen her in action. I wasn’t going to wait
for an explanation. Knowing Betty Jo, if the entire building had
exploded into a tower of flames at that moment, I wouldn’t have
been surprised.

“Someone called the police. They’re all
yelling about it in there and pointing at me.”

The siren sounds were definitely getting
louder. The “Congressman and the Stripper” headline flashed across
my mind. For the first time in my life, I slammed the accelerator
to the floor and held it there just like in the movies. The car
fishtailed sideways, the tires spun then screeched as we tore out
of there seemingly on two wheels.

Once on the access road I could see the
flashing lights of an oncoming sheriff’s car and a highway patrol
vehicle. Sirens blared as they passed us. As we swung up onto I-95,
I glanced back and saw the trooper had blocked the truck stop exit
to prevent any additional vehicles from leaving the truck stop.

“See that white SUV behind us?” She was
turned in the seat, watching out the back window. “We were the last
two vehicles to get out.”

Underway on the highway, the yelp of another
siren made us both stiffen. I was afraid to look in the rearview
mirror. The siren’s cry grew louder and we could then see an
ambulance roaring by in the oncoming lane.

I finally relaxed my white-knuckled grip on
the steering wheel. But for the rest of the trip I fully expected
flashing lights in the rear view mirror at any time.

She made a small laugh. “I guess I sort of
called attention to myself back there.”

“I guess you did. Of course, you’d have been
noticed back there even if you hadn’t taken out that woman.”

“What do you mean?”

I laughed. “What goes unnoticed in Baltimore
can start a riot at a redneck truck stop.”

“What are you talking about?”

I didn’t answer.

“You mean how I look?”

I shouldn’t have said anything to start. I
had intended my comment to be complimentary. At least I was smart
enough to remain silent.

“You mean how I’m dressed?” She didn’t like
this at all. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“They’re fine. I guess it’s not your
fault.”

“Well, then what the hell are you talking
about?”

“Your clothes are fine. It’s how you wear
them.” I was getting in deeper. “When you put everything together,
you have a certain look.”

“So what you’re saying is I look like a
whore.”

“Of course not. I’m just saying you have more
of a Baltimore city look than a redneck truck-stop look.” I was
truly sorry I’d brought up the subject. “I think you’re beautiful.
You could be a model.” I hoped that was the end of it. Maybe she’d
leave it at that.

I thought she was still mad at me but later
she said, “I’m so glad I’ve got my clothes back. Also, I’ve a new
bikini packed in there. Can we stop at a beach on the way
down?”

“I thought you were in a hurry. If we stop,
you won’t get to your mother’s until after dark.”

“What’s another couple of hours? Come on,
let’s find a beach somewhere so I can try out my new bikini. It’s
orange. If you don’t like it, I’ll take it off.”

You hear that comment? She was doing it
again. She didn’t want the teasing sexy talk, but would instantly
go back to it if it suited her. Like now enticing me to take her to
the beach. Once again, she toyed with my agony. Truth is I’d have
done anything for her. You want to go to the beach, Cannes,
Acapulco? Just name it.

We were now near Sebastian, Florida and she
wanted off that land-bound highway. She was serious about the
beach. We were unfamiliar with this part of the Florida east coast,
but I knew we needed to cut over east to A1A, which runs alongside
the ocean. We exited and stopped at a convenience store for
directions. She bought one of those large soft pretzels. It didn’t
come with mustard, which she had to have. So I bought a little jar
of mustard for her.

South on A1A I found that isolated beach. I
almost drove past. There were no formal parking spaces. You just
pulled onto a dirt road behind the dense foliage. This woman who
stripped for a living hid behind my car like an adolescent girl so
I wouldn’t see her while she changed into her bikini. She had me
lock her clothes and shoulder bag in the trunk.

The beach was down a sandy slope. She
stretched out on her back in the faultless sand. She was absolutely
stunning lying there in the late afternoon sun. Unbelievable. At
one point, she rolled over on her stomach and undid the straps to
her top, careful not to expose her breasts to me. That annoyed me
and I told her so, “You’ve been flirting with men across five
states. I drive you all the way to Florida and don’t even get a
flash.”

“It’s my day off.” She laughed and started to
eat the pretzel. All at once, she started choking. Then she stood,
one hand at her throat the other holding the bikini top to her
chest. Just a cough and I thought nothing of it at first. She let
the top fall and clutched her throat with both hands. Obviously in
severe distress. She bent over jerking her knees up and down like
an Indian war dancer. I panicked. I slapped her back fairly hard
between the shoulder blades, I’d seen a waiter do that once. I
reached around her waist from behind and squeezed. I really didn’t
know what I was doing. She clutched at her throat trying to cough.
I pounded on her back again. Whatever I was doing wasn’t correct or
at least didn’t work. After a couple of minutes, her face started
turning blue. Within five minutes, she had lost consciousness. In
another five...she was dead.

In a flash. Just like that. Betty Jo was
gone.

I had been useless. I started crying and had
to kneel down. I realized I had to get help. I thought about how
this would look and how the police wouldn’t believe me. I tried to
get her top back on so they wouldn’t think I molested her, but I
gave up on that. I started running up the dune toward my car.

As I started back to my car, this young man
walked up. I covered her with my suit jacket and we talked for a
few minutes. He told me he saw everything. He’d already called the
police so there was no point in me hanging around. So reluctantly,
I left.

She had accidentally died. I’d done nothing
wrong. I was devastated. Nothing else I could do for her, however I
could save myself. I could imagine all the photographers following
the police and snapping pictures of me kneeling beside her
body.

Leaving was a big mistake. I didn’t realize
just how big at the time. I admit my thoughts were entirely about
myself. I should have sat by her side until the police came. If I
hadn’t left, she wouldn’t have been desecrated. That happened
because of me. It’s hard to live with because I had grown so fond
of her.

Congressman Kidde had walked a continuous
circle around his desk while relating his two day adventure. “Have
you ever seen anyone die, right before your eyes?” After an audible
sigh, he sank into his chair, swiveled away from Sandy, and put his
head down in his hands.

Sandy sat half-stunned. It was as though she
had watched Freddy himself die slowly before her eyes. When she
entered his house two hours ago, she was caught up in the mystery
surrounding the poor woman found dead and penetrated on a Florida
beach. What happened on the beach that night? Who was she? How did
she come to be there? Sandy had wanted to know every detail. Now
she knew more than she wanted to know. He had explained too
much.

She was astonished that this uptight
conservative man had poured out his innermost thoughts to her. She
had no interest in his erotic fantasies. It was enough to know he
had them in abundance. Obviously, he harbored guilt over his
behavior and failure to save Betty Jo’s life. Had he been engrossed
hopelessly in some sort of cathartic story telling? Had he a
psychological need to bare his soul to Sandy in an act of
contrition to gain absolution?

After a few moments, he swiveled around,
straightened in his chair, and forced a smile. “Now you know
everything. Freddy is the one who has stripped himself bare. I’m at
your mercy. You know enough to destroy me. Nothing I can do about
it now.”

“Geez Freddy, did you have to go into such
detail?”

“I wanted someone to understand the entire
episode. You told me not to leave out the embarrassing stuff.”

“I meant I could handle it, not that I wanted
to hear your heavy breathing.”

“No doubt you’ve been judging me all the time
I was divulging my innermost thoughts to you.”

She studied his face. How had this prominent
politician managed to place his entire life on the edge of
devastation with a routine drive to Florida? He gave a stranded
woman a ride and was, at first, disinterested in her—she wasn’t
even pretty. His imagination began to run wild when she explained
she was a stripper from Baltimore. From that point on the trip
became a fantasy adventure for him. She simply wanted the ride and
was unemotional about him. His infatuation with her grew into a
hopeless sexual obsession. At the end, she was gorgeous, he
couldn’t live without her, and he was reduced to a blithering idiot
willing to lick her zebra-striped shoes.

“Of course, I’ve been judging you. You’re a
childish, selfish, and passionate man. I’ll excuse the passion. All
of us are subject to losing control over a passion. Did I mention
arrogant? You’re too used to privilege. You’re one of those people
who never hesitates to walk through any door marked ‘private,’ and
then you walk out if what you find on the other side displeases
you.”

“It’s true I’ve grown quite accustomed to a
certain privileged routine. I know I didn’t react properly in such
an emergency.”

“Why didn’t you try CPR?”

“I didn’t think about it and don’t know how
to do it anyway. I’ve never thought about things like CPR and
Heimlich. I’m not really a people person. You know, touchy feely
stuff. I’ve been insulated from such physicality. I don’t think
about having emergencies. I have minions to take care of such
matters. Of course, we don’t know if CPR would have helped. Even
someone skilled might not have been able to save her.”

“That’s true. Some of your ineptitude is
forgivable. Few of us are well prepared for a panic.” She wished
she could stop judging him and get on with the missing details.
“The man you left behind on the beach with her body was, of course,
Toby.”

“Didn’t I say that? He must have followed us
from Jacksonville to the beach, although I didn’t notice. Anyway,
that’s why I paid the blackmail. I didn’t want anyone to know I was
there. I’m too well known.”

She said, “I’m surprised Betty Jo walked down
to the beach and left her shoulder bag in the car. She seemed to be
protecting it so closely during the entire trip.”

“Once we crossed into Florida, I could see
her really relax. Much happier. The trip was almost over. She’d see
her mother in a few hours. She was in Florida where she could
stretch out in the sun. She changed into the bikini and we locked
her clothes and her handbag in the trunk. She was okay with
that.

“What happened to her belongings?”

“After I got home, I started to burn
them...her stuff...and then I hesitated. I couldn’t do it. Those
things didn’t belong to me. They were hers. They were a
confirmation of her. Evidence of her existence. Could be she didn’t
own anything else. Her mother might like to have them.”