Deena was dancing along with her MP3 player to a spirited song from the 1980s. Several times she thought she had heard the phone ring and stopped to listen, only to catch a great beat and forget it. Finally, she did in fact hear the phone ringing and removed her ear plugs to answer it.
“It’s Arlene, Deena.”
“Arlene?”
“No, it’s Maggie, Deena. Willard got a phone call from Steve saying something happened to Arlene.”
Bastard beat her up again. The words screamed through Deena’s mind—followed by that mad, but on-target know-it-all attitude of hers that always made her ex-Joseph want to strangle her.
She leapt up, skidding her socked feet on the slick wooden floor, and grabbed the table. The lamp and a empty bottle of beer on it rocked madly, then righted themselves, and she saw that the glass bottle of perfume she kept handy to mask the smell, which had been half full when she brought it out, was empty.
No wonder she was feeling lightheaded and a little woozy. She had been spraying so many perfumes and other air deodorants inside the house it was surprising she hadn’t passed out. She got her balance and steadied herself as she answered the phone.
“What is going on?”
“Deena? It’s Arlene. Something’s happened to her.”
“Listen to me. Call the cops this time. Don’t let Arlene talk you out of it. The bastard has to pay this time. And don’t waste time on me…I’ll be there shortly.”
“I can’t. She won’t let me call, Deena.” Maggie Swader’s voice broke.
“Won’t let you? She can’t possibly have an argument this time for not calling.”
“You’re right…you’re right…” Maggie babbled on.
“Look, I know it’s a lousy night outside…but I’ll be there. Tell her I’ll be there,” Deena pressed.
Deena had become aware of the splattering rain and snow on the windows about a half an hour before the call.
“Hurry, Deena. She needs you.”
* * * *
The snow and rain had an icy sound to it, the roads and sidewalks were slick, and Deena kept her car at around thirty miles per hour. The main thoroughfare through Strafford was an empty shining black strip, with its lone stoplight thrashing in the wind on its cable.
* * * *
Arlene, Arlene, she thought as she traversed the two blocks of little houses that made up her neighborhood and that spilled over into Arlene’s. Be okay, dear, be okay. Please be okay.
In a matter of moments, long, agonizing moments later, Deena pulled up to the house. She noticed Willard and Maggie’s car already pulled into the drive and she tucked hers safely on the curb out of the way of traffic.
“In the bedroom,” Steve said answering the door. “She won’t eat, drink, go to the hospital or speak. Just sits there shivering and sobbing.”
Arlene was in a wing chair next to the bed, three quarters back to the door, and leaned out of the chair to see Deena when she called out her name. The radio was playing a big band tune softly; Arlene had her feet up on the bed, her body covered by a blue-and-tan afghan under which her clenched fists made small lumps.
Deena turned off the radio, moved her feet aside, and sat on the bed to look Arlene at eye level. Her skin was moist and very pale, except for a flush of red, hot specks that dotted her upper chest and cheeks. Her eyes were glassy, the skin around them looked wet and bruised, and there was the beginning of a pink welt on her forehead.
“Slip, fall, or did the bastard hit you again?” Deena asked impolitely.
Gingerly, Arlene touched the spot on her forehead. “Is it that bad?”
“How’d it happen?”
“Later.” Arlene’s lips barely moved. “Talk to Maggie, did you?”
“Yes, stop avoiding the situation.”
“Talk to her some more; she seems to know what goes on in my house more than I do. I think she’s in worse shape than I am.”
“She cares about you as do I, Arlene. Why can’t you see that? We are the ones who truly care and love you, not that bastard Steve.”
“Don’t call him that. It’s unlady like.”
Maggie slunk in and laid on the bed next to Deena some towels, a first aid kid, some ice in a small bowl and a cordless phone. She left without looking at Arlene and saying nothing.
“Tell her I’m okay,” Arlene pleaded.
“I’ll tell her you’re okay when I’m certain you are.”
She used a small hand towel to wrap some ice in and handed it to Arlene. It was apparent to Deena that Arlene needed more appropriate healthcare from a doctor. She said as much, but Arlene shook her head and her eyes got a flat look she’d only seen a few times: Arlene digging in, she thought. But she’d call someone later and the cops and the paramedics could sort the care and blame out.
She went to work dressing the wounds.
Deena’s blood pressure soared, but nowhere out of control. Her eyes were clear as she took Arlene’s pulse and it was strong and steady in both wrist and ankle.
She asked Arlene if she’d blacked out or gotten dizzy when she’d “hit” her head. Arlene said she’d seen some light spots, and everything went white. “But I’ve been hit harder before.”
“I wouldn’t brag,” muttered Deena.
Arlene mentioned it before to Deena and Maggie had confirmed it was a common concomitant before Deena had returned to town.
“Do you know what day it is, Arlene?” Deena snapped out the question and Arlene gave a faint smile.
“You’re really worried about me, aren’t you?”
“Answer the question.”
“I believe it’s Tuesday. My name is Arlene Floyd Balleza. My third grade teacher was named Melody Keller and she smelled like rotten peaches most of the time. I’m okay, Deena, really.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Because you are my friend.”
“I’m your friend, but I have to say this has gone on far too long,” Deena said.
“I agreed. And I will take care of it on my own,” Arlene told her friend, looking Deena squarely in the eyes. “Okay?”
Deena sighed. “Fine.”
“So what have you been up to today?”
Deena looked sheepishly at Arlene. “You’re not going to believe what I’m going to tell you.”
Arlene tilted her head. “About what?”
“Let me talk to Maggie and Willard first so that they can go home,” Deena said. “I don’t want to tell them just yet and I’ll be back.”
“Deena, what did you do?”
* * * *
After his invitation to dinner with his renter, Frank Marsden was edgy and paranoid. He felt as if he was getting too sloppy. But this did not deter his appetite as later that same day he went out hunting again. He added to his cache of women with the addition of Maria Pinella, a petite, soft-spoken eighteen-year-old. Despite her childlike qualities, Pinella was no naïf. At lunchtime that day she had been working the street in front of a seedy Southside hotel, hoping somebody would come along looking for a nooner. That somebody turned out to be Marsden, who was driving his silver Camry.
She went with him, sucking his cock as he drove. Marsden followed his established pattern, and drug Maria Pinella into his basement. As soon as they got downstairs, Pinella saw that she was in trouble and tried to make a run for it. Marsden stopped her and then grabbed a metal rod and began to hit her across the buttocks.
“That’s what you’re going to get if you don’t do what I tell you,” he said.
To impress her and the other women he hit her five more times. When he went to shackle her in the customary fashion, with muffler clamps, he discovered her ankles were far too thin. She could slip right through the devices. So he had to use a pair of handcuffs.
That night Frank was in a merciful mood. He not only had a new recruit, but he saw that Angela was now nearly ready to be put into the hole.
His delight pained Jennifer Raymond as she figured she would be the next to be put into the hole with whatever was down there. Would she be slurped up by that thing? She shivered at the thought and though tears came streaming down her face she knew better than to make a sound.
Willard was at the kitchen table, staring into a mug of fresh coffee.
“She’s okay,” Deena said quickly. “At least I’m pretty sure she is.”
“Pretty sure?” Maggie snarled as she appeared from behind Willard. “What kind of answer is pretty sure?”
“The only one I have at the moment,” Deena said gently. “She wants to handle this on her own.”
Willard hunched his shoulders up around his ears, and started to sigh. He was a big man, almost as tall as Joseph. It was then Maggie started to cry.
“I know…I know…” Willard pulled out a gigantic, white ironed handkerchief and wiped his wife’s eyes.
“I thought this time she’d do something about him…” Maggie said through her sobs.
Deena instinctively looked around for Steve. “Speaking of him…where is he?”
“Gone to the bar, I suppose,” Willard offered.
“I thought this one would change her mind too, Maggie. Apparently she has a plan this time. And I believe her. She had this look of determination. I feel like she has had enough.”
“Do you know how this started?” Maggie asked Deena.
“No.”
“Dinner was late.” Maggie managed a shaky grin. “Doesn’t that beat all? That is not a reason for a man to lay his hands upon that woman. What gives him the right?”
“Now, Maggie, calm down. What’s done is done and as Deena said, Arlene wants to handle this on her own,” Willard said to his wife.
“Perhaps you two could go and leave me to speak with Arlene in private?” Deena suggested.
Maggie looked offended before a look from Willard reassured her that this was the right thing to do.
“Call us if you need anything,” Maggie said as Willard pulled her out the door. “Whatever time you need us, we’ll be by the phone. Okay…then…’bye.”
“They gone?” Arlene asked from the hallway.
Deena turned and smiled at her friend. “How much did you hear?”
“All of it,” Arlene admitted. “Now what did you do?”
“You are amazing,” Deena said. “Here you are after getting…well, you know…and you are more interested in something that I did.”
“You’re stalling.”
“You should know, you taught me well.” Deena couldn’t hide her delight and soon the two women were laughing.
“Spill it.”
“I invited Mr. Marsden to a dinner party at the house tomorrow night,” Deena blurted out.
“You did what?”
“I know.” Deena smiled. “I couldn’t help myself. I ran outside as soon as I saw him and it just came out.”
“Anyone else going to be at this party? I don’t recall any invitation,” Arlene said, mocking hurt.
“You and the Swaders, of course,” Deena replied. “That is if you all will come.”
“I’ll be there but I’m not sure Maggie wants to be around me right now,” Arlene admitted.
“Prove to her that you will handle this and she’ll come around.”
The two women embraced and Deena helped Arlene wash up before getting her ready for bed.
“I’ll take the couch tonight,” Deena said. “You know in case…”
“He won’t be back tonight,” Arlene responded. “If he ends up anywhere it will be in the drunk tank downtown. But I do appreciate the offer. You don’t have to stay. I’m a big girl and I can take care of myself.”
“I don’t mind,” Deena said. “Besides, it gets me away from the smell for a night.”
“Okay, but you sure you’ll be okay on the couch?”
Deena waved off Arlene’s suggestion. “I’ve slept on worse.”
“Okay.”
Even after adding a sixth woman to his horror harem, Frank Marsden was not content. The encounter with Deena Hopping kept him on edge. He went out again later that night. He found a starry-eyed Vietnamese woman named Tuyen Luong who was wandering the streets. Frank was extremely excited, having never fucked an Asian woman before. He was so excited he nearly ejaculated in his pants as he watched Tuyen enter the car.
Tuyen’s English was bad so she resorted to pointing at what he might what from her. Frank did climax then at the excitement of a new and foreign woman.
* * * *
When they got to the house at 1420 South Douty Street, Marsden ushered her into the house, not the basement. He noticed that his tenant was out. He was risking a lot, but this woman was worth it to him. He found the guest bedroom and pushed her inside. Tuyen did not like the rough handling of her and tried to express so. After forcing her to give him oral sex, Marsden slapped Tuyen and turned her over. She screamed and this only excited him more. Soon his massive frame was on her and he sodomized Tuyen despite her screams of pain and terror. Marsden reached a climax like he had never before and when he went to clean himself up noticed blood on his penis.
“What the fuck is that?” he screamed at her. Tuyen balled herself in the corner with a sheet from the bed. “You fucking cunt—you’re going to give me Aids!”
The beating that Tuyen received was severe even for Marsden’s standard. Tuyen weighed perhaps a hundred pounds and he felt several of her ribs break as he punched her. Her cries stopped as she passed out.
Marsden grabbed the girl up and brought her downstairs to the others. No one said a word. Marsden was seething and did not waste any time as he lifted the cover to the hole and threw Tuyen into it. Once he was done he placed the cover back on top and several bags to weigh it down.
The other women scurried with fear from him. Marsden liked it.
He pulled Maria by her hair. He unzipped his pants and his penis slapped her in the face. “I just fucked that little bitch in the ass and came so much that she could probably taste it.”
Maria cried and tried to turn her face away. “What do you think you’re doing?” He slapped her in the face with his hand. “I want you to clean my dick, bitch. Taste that Gook’s shit.” He forced his penis into her mouth and much to his surprise he reached another climax before he let her go.
* * * *
Steve Balleza shook some Valium from the large bottle he carried.
Ten minutes earlier, Steve had stepped out of his house, leaving his battered wife to the care of his friends, into a tornado of sleet, shuffled down the ice-coated path to his pick-up, and slid into the front seat, drawing his thick, long legs in soaked, icy pants into the truck.
He started the engine, put on the defrost and wipers, and waited for the windshield to clear. He needed time anyway to get hold of himself and figure out what to do next. Was this the time he finally got his ass hauled off to jail? Or was he going to go and self medicate himself down at one of the local bars, like normal?
He’d always known he had an anger problem. The problem was no one understood his anger. Steve considered it an acquired taste. But he’d also thought he had it under control. He was wrong. Little by little, over a span of time, his control has slipped. Of course, Arlene would say it was a result of his drinking. Steve didn’t have a problem drinking; he liked to drink; the problem was no one else appreciated his drinking. Arlene wanted him to go into Alcoholics Anonymous, but Steve was no quitter.
In a spasm of self-loathing, he twisted in the faux leather set, rocking the truck.
He should be a Valium spare-parts cataloger, drink all he wants; eat pizza right out-of-the-box type of guy.
Not the husband of some frou-frou real estate agent who has to attend fancy dinner parties in a dress shirt and tie.
Damn the man who made it so men had to wear such painful adornments.
And on top of the immense screw-up of the night, he’d been so floored by what he’d done to his wife, so perplexed by the outpouring of love from her friends, he’d taken the worse possible course and left. Made a decision he did not think he had a chance of correcting or even if he wanted to.
But he had made it, made it because of Arlene, and he owed her the good will, the bare-knuckle love and respect, to try to correct it.
It was the least he could do, and the second the defroster had cleared a slice of his windshield large enough to see through, he jammed the truck into gear, slid down the driveway to the road, and headed for the nearest bar—no wait he had a much better destination in mind.