A much older Senga cradled her Jack and coke in her hands, as she sat in a smoky bar in Chicago. She smiled, remembering her younger years. Now she was 22, and much wiser. Though she hadn’t grown into her hair. It was still as wild and curly as it had been when she was a child.
“Hey, Kitt. Back to Earth!” Her friend Paul snapped his fingers in front of her nose, bringing her out of her thoughts. “You’re on in a few minutes, you know.”
She sighed and downed the rest of her drink. “Yeah, man, I know.” She coughed on the alcohol as it burned its way down her throat. “I’m not nervous, or anything.”
“I never said you were nervous. Just keep it together. We don’t need 100 men following you home tonight.” He said, snorting into his pint glass.
Senga just stared at him with that black look that she was famous for. That look could strip paint off walls, make men’s balls shrivel and fall off. And Paul knew that, as he looked down at his glass. “Wow, I never knew beer could be so interesting…” he said; he knew he’d hit a nerve.
“And now, let’s give it up for a newcomer to our humble bar, Senga Kitt!” The emcee made an overly dramatic flourish on stage, waiting for Senga to get up there.
“We’ll finish this later.” She made a pointed glance at Paul, and picked up her guitar and headed up to the stage.
Later, when they were walking back to her apartment, she punched his arm hard. “Don’t bring that up ever again.”
“Ow, what the hell Senga!” Paul rubbed at his upper arm. “I’m sorry. I can’t help but make siren jokes.”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t do it again.” Senga said quietly, stalking ahead of him, and then paused. “Hey. When’s your ceremony?” she asked, biting her lip.
“Oh, you mean when I officially step into my Poseidon shoes? Next week. And before you ask, yes, I’m nervous. You’re lucky, you know. You have a while. At least your mom hasn’t been called yet.”
Senga let out a long, sad sigh. “I don’t even want this. I just want to be normal. Leaving my life and being a full-fledged Siren? I’d rather just be able to sing well and settle down.”
“You’re never gonna be able to settle down if you keep moving around like this. Andy’s not gonna catch up with you. Even if he does, what’s he gonna do to you?”
She shook her head. “Oh, I am SO not going there right now. Let’s just get home. I need to sleep.” She made a grumpy face, and brushed her curls away from her face. Paul shrugged and draped his arm over her shoulder to walk her to the building.
The apartment building was a shit hole. Plain and simple. The rats adored the bathrooms, of which there was one on each floor for about five families to share. The heat didn’t always work, because the radiators broke down on an hour to hour basis. And the walls were thin. Senga knew exactly when the husband and wife in 303 conceived their baby, and when the woman in 305 broke her nose. But Senga didn’t have to sign any paper work to rent there, and that was all she wanted. No questions. Chances were good that she’d be moving on in a couple of months. She’d been there for two very long weeks and if Paul-soon-to-be-Poseidon hadn’t offered to join her, she’d have gone crazy.
Ahhhh, the room. It was honestly one small room. The bed and the couch were right next together. This defeated the entire purpose of Senga and Paul having separate sleeping arrangements.
“Dude, you just need to sleep and everything will be okay. NO more craaazy paranoia over Andy... Chicago is a nice city, when you don’t live in the slums.” Paul muttered, throwing down his jacket on the three square feet of bare floor left in the room. Senga’s guitar was carefully placed next to it.
That night, Senga dreamt. She was 15 again. Young, naïve, and hopeful. And she was helping her father file papers at the law office. But something was off. Morpheus cast a shadow over the scene, the same way a silk blouse smudged the edges of Senga’s still developing body. The God of Dreams had a sense of humor tonight. It was British pantomime, brightly colored costumes, gaudy makeup, absurd and suggestive lyrics. Punch and Judy made a running commentary.
Of course, Senga fell in love with Andrew Sullivan the moment she laid her eyes on him. That scene was all Senga singing a weepy ballad about loving him forever, while Andy stood in a corner and plotted in bawdy detail how to corrupt her. If it was a real play, people would have laughed. If they’d known Andy’s real age, they would have been horrified.
The scene closed on a much different note. All the light had gone out with a dramatic bang, but one. A spotlight, lonely and glaring, lit up the couple. The music had faded into their heavy breathing. Then two words from Andy. “Don’t tell.” His hand was sliding up her thigh, under her skirt, when the spotlight blinked out and the scene ended.
She awoke, not shooting out of bed like a rocket, but rolling over with a small, half-sob, grumpy at her unconscious for bringing her out of her rest. Not like she ever got much sleep nowadays. Paul reached out a hand, slowed from sleep, to shake her just as slow. “Kitt, you okay…?” he mumbled into his pillow. Senga just gave his hand a shove away from her shoulder, and rolled back over. The shove woke him up, only he shot up from the sofa and sat on the edge of her bed. “Senga…? You okay…?” He put his hand on her back ever so softly, just to be a comfort. But in her confusion, her dream seeming to seep into reality, she let out a small shriek and twisted away from her friend. When she realized that that had hurt his feelings, she finally sat up to talk.
“Morpheus is playing tricks.” She said, so quiet it was barely a whisper. “I dreamt about Andy. When we met.” Senga pulled her blankets up around her shoulders, to calm her shivers, even though she wasn’t cold. Paul reached out to her, to wrap her up in his arms, but she shied away. She didn’t want to be touched; she could still feel Andy’s hand on her thigh.
***
She could remember when he first raped her. She was 16, and Andy was tired of waiting. It was one of those long days, when Senga had a stack of homework that was growing and growing. But he wanted her around all the time. She followed him to his ‘meetings’ with important people. He’d been approached by the good ole Boston mob for legal help, and the money was too good to resist.
Senga would sit outside in a corner of the bar with her backpack, too afraid to call her mother and tell her where she was. And this night was no different. But the boys were celebrating some victory or another, and they’d been drinking. She could hear their laughter and drinking songs through the door of the back room where they met. She’d finished her math homework, and was packing it up when the meeting adjourned and the men came tumbling forth from the room like ants from an anthill. Andy came over to her, stumbling slightly and words slurring. “Hey, honeeey. Let’s get out of here.” He muttered, grabbing her hand and pulling her to her feet roughly. She barely had time to pick up her backpack as she was hauled out of the bar and out to his car. “Let’s say you and me go back to my place…” he said, getting behind the wheel of the Mercedes. She wasn’t so sure he was okay to drive, and she offered to take him home and take the train back to her house.
“Aww, come on, baby.” He whined as they drove to his apartment.
“I really shouldn’t. I have school in the morning, you know.” She said, curling up in her seat.
He pulled into the parking garage, and put the car into park. “Fine, but give me little kiss before you go.” He whispered, leaning in close to her face, his breath stinking of scotch and beer and cigars. She closed her eyes, and kissed his puckered up lips quickly, and reached for the door handle. But he had other ideas. His hand shot out, and fisted itself in her hair, pulling her back in for a longer snog. She whimpered when his tongue forced its way into her mouth, and she would have bit down on it hard, but she was too scared to react.
He pulled away, smirking. “That’s a good girl.” He said, his hand sliding it way up her thigh, up her skirt, to her panties. Senga gasped, and tried to wiggle away and push his hand away, but that only seemed to encourage him. And that scared her even more. His other hand was still tangled up in her curls, and he pulled her pushed her so she was sprawled out over her seat. The hand up her skirt slipped under her underwear, and inside her and she tried to scream, but the hand in her hair shot back out and over her mouth. Andy quickly covered her body with his, murmuring quiet words of reassurance as he fumbled with his belt and trousers. Senga pleaded with him to stop, trying to squeeze her legs together so he would give up, but he was stronger than she was.
The sound of dishes crashing snapped Senga out of that trip down memory lane, the dishes she’d been taking to her table at her waitressing job. The shaggy haired young man and the pretty woman she’d been waiting on glared at her angrily. She blushed and stammered, apologizing and promising them a free meal as she picked up the sharp, broken dishes. A finger caught on an edge, and she cried out, nearly in tears. A large shape materialized beside her. The shaggy haired man crouched next to her.
“Here.” He said quietly, gently wrapping her finger in a napkin. He then started picking up the broken dishes himself, while she stared at him, in a mixture of awe and gratitude. The woman he was with was aghast, and glared at him angrily. Time for Senga to get out of there, and get them their food. She put called their order to the chef, and headed to the bathroom to wash and clean herself up. The path took her right by the table.
“Tucker, she’s just the help. It was HER job to pick all that shit up. ” The woman whispered, very angry at the man.
“She looks like she’s having a rough day; have a little compassion.” He muttered back.
Senga couldn’t help but smile a little.
She finished their order perfectly, even bringing the two an ice cream sundae to share. Which she thought was a nice touch, even though the woman at the table wouldn’t eat it.
Senga went back to her other tables. She could concentrate now. When she went back to THAT table, she found fifty dollars lying under the salt shaker. Their meal had been free.
No comments:
Post a Comment