Chapter 3 – Wild Night
The living room was a mess, which was a never a good sign. Annette had a tendency to tear things apart when she was distraught, her fingers like little paper shredders creating confetti, but instead of joy, there was just a lingering sense of dread. There wasn't a time in her life that Marie didn't remember her mother's razor fingers. In fact, she distinctly remembered the time that her father's parents were supposed to come over for Christmas when she was seven years old. Her grandmother and grandfather had been being awfully rude towards her mom, the exact words lost in Marie's innocent mind- although she did recall at least one of the words having been on her mother's no-no list- but the general idea of it was that they didn't like Annette. The anxiety that tore through her mom only served to make her look worse in her grandparents eyes, because when everyone came downstairs Christmas morning, the presents that had been so delicately packaged lay strewn about the floor around her, slivers of paper and cardboard doing nothing to conceal the presents young Marie had been anticipating.
Marie didn't know then what she knows now, however. How even the slightest bit of criticism from one of her children would send Annette into weeks of depression. She never really had an explanation for it, but ever since Marie's father died six years ago, it had gotten worse. She'd wake up in the middle of the night, and her mother would be sitting in the hallway, legs tucked beneath her and her hair in a rats nest, ripping up pieces of paper.
Removing herself from her memories, Marie found her mom a few minutes later in the next room, sitting in front of the window in the kitchen and gazing out of it like a school girl in love.
"What are you doing?" Marie asked, breaking the quiet.
Annette jumped back, placing her hand over her heart. "Jesus, Marie! Give me some warning next time." Her daughter ignored her, brushing passed to see what she was staring at. There, she saw Logan raking his back yard, skin glistening in the sunlight. The man clearly had no earthly idea that Annette was looking at him like a rib-eye steak. If he did, he would no doubt put a shirt on. He may have been God's gift to women, but Marie liked to think he wouldn't gift himself to the woman that gifted her to the world.
She turned to look at the older of the two with disapproval. "He's not a piece of eye candy, momma."
Annette sighed, brushing her blonde hair off of her shoulder as she tried to sneak another peak out of the window. "He knows what he's doing."
Excuse me? Marie didn't think that was a good reason. "You should be ashamed of yourself, saying an excuse like that! Even if he's aware of himself and chooses to not cover it up, it doesn't mean you should be making googly eyes and cat calls at him through the window." Marie also felt something unnameable within the confines of her lower stomach, but didn't ponder on it.
"My little daughter, the ever so moral Marie D'Ancanto." Her hands went up in the universal 'giving up' way, and she spun around so that she could prove she was done looking through the window.
"Besides, shouldn't you be getting ready for Jax to get home?" Marie asked, watching as Annette reached behind her daughter, lowering the blinds.
A snort then left the woman as she rolled her eyes, wrinkles being stretched out momentarily on her aging face before sitting down in a chair beside the messy table. "His name is Matthew. That's the name I gave him when I gave birth to him." She took a tip of tea that left a shiny ring on the stained wood. "Your daddy is the one who decided to give him that middle name." Marie felt a pang of hurt pierce through her heart at the casual mention of her father, but she continued before much thought could be lost on it. "And he called an hour ago. Said his superior called him and he won't be able to come home until Sunday." Sucking in her breath, Marie's pulse began to chug in her chest as a painful knot started to twist. She hadn't seen her brother in nearly four years. "He also asked me to tell you that he's sorry, and that he can't wait to see how your hair has grown out," she said with a chuckle.
Marie groaned loudly, absentmindedly fingering her hair. The night when Jax cut it hit her full force, and soon, she was laughing too. It had looked like she had handed a child the scissors instead of a nineteen year old man. "That son of a-" she said under her breath.
A hand slapped her on the arm, and Annette was glaring at her daughter with disapproval. "Don't call your brother that," she chastised, and Marie leaned to press a quick kiss to her cheek, smiling innocently.
"Sorry, momma." Her feet turned and aimed back towards the living room when Annette questioned her destiMarieion. "Why don't I go and clean up the living room, and you get started on dinner?" Her mother agreed, allowing Marie to continue her path.
She was fluffing the last pillow to place on the couch when she heard the high pitched call of her mothers voice beckoning her in for dinner. Marie realized her mistake in allowing her mother to oversee the food. That was usually her job, and for good reason. She stared nervously down at the pasta that held an eerily black tint. Macaroni n' cheese and stuffed mushrooms that resembled more of smothered camp fire. Damnit.
They sat down opposite of each other, each painfully mindful of the empty seats on either side, one of which should be filled now, and the other would never be filled again.
"How was school?" She asked, stuffing a bite of mushroom into her mouth. Marie stared her down while attempting to gauge the level of horror her tastebuds were going to receive from taking a bite, but she didn't crack in the slightest.
Sighing, she scraped her fork around on the old, blue, glass plate. "Clarence Thomas blew up my chem class." She supplied, pushing aside a hard macaroni.
"Oh? Well, we know what career he's aiming for." Annette said, reaching for her nearly empty glass of wine.
Marie nodded. "Suicide bomber." She finally took a bite, promptly wishing she hadn't. There was quite the generous amount of salt to cover the singe, but despite the contiguous extinction of any wetness in her mouth, she swallowed it. Annette didn't notice when her daughter gasped, snatching her water from the table. "His parents must be so proud."
Annette lifted her fork, pointing it towards her daughter as her blonde hair slung over her right shoulder. Unlike Marie, her brother also had blonde hair, but to Marie, their mother's had always seemed so much brighter. Jax's was practically brown now that she thought about it. Not quite to her level, but dirty blonde didn't seem to cover it anymore. "You know, his father used to be a waiter down at Buddy's."
She did know, but she didn't want her mother to have any reason to get angry with her. "Oh, really?"
"Yes, really. And his mother was a shop girl in the eighties." She added like a gossiping housewife.
She once again sighed, looking passed the radiant blonde hair and out of the window that she remember closing, but was once again open. "I guess it runs in the family." Marie said distractedly, wondering if Logan knows she was panting like a dog in heat while watching him.
"What?" She asked.
"Short lived careers."
Her mother stopped chewing for a moment, then it hit her. She began laughing, then she laughed so much that she had to grab a napkin to wipe her eyes. "You're awful!" She cried out, taking another big swig of wine, successfully emptying the glass.
Marie smiled back at her, chewing on the too salty food with pride. It was a good joke, wasn't it?
But the fun could only last so long before Buzzkill Bob decides it's his time to shine.
"Listen, Marie." The pit of her stomach dropped. She could tell what words were going to leave her mother's mouth before they even protruded in a quick spat of badly memorized scripted lies. "I'm going out tonight. The girls want to go check out this new restaurant in Mobile." All lies. The only girls her mother knew were Brandy and Martini. "I'll be home later, so no need to wait up."
By that, she meant she wouldn't be home until tomorrow, and even then she'd probably be crawling through the door, tonight's dinner on her pants and shoes, wallet empty and eyes hollow with numbness.
This wasn't Marie's first rodeo, far from it really. This was a routine of hers, even more engrained than brushing her teeth. What first began as a few nights a month turned into an everyday situation. At least when she was younger, she'd wait until Marie was asleep before slipping off and leaving her unattended. At the time, she took it in stride. Her mother trusted her enough to leave her home alone at night. She was practically an adult! Each night, she'd stay up just a little bit later, slipping into bed at 10, then 11, and before she even knew it, she was falling asleep around 3 in the morning on the couch, infomercials pleading with her sleeping form to "quickly call toll-free now for 2 jumbo tomato knives for the price of one!"
Marie didn't personally see anything wrong with her newfound curfew (or lack thereof), although her teachers would say otherwise. Still, even with her failing grades, she was more than happy with the freedom her mother had given her, so much so that she had failed to lock the door behind her in her ecstatic haze. So while she was passed out on the couch with the tomato knife people yelling at her that $19.99 for two knives was more than affordable, a man who had lost his job three weeks prior with infants and a deceased wife had lost his way- not unlike her own mother- and had decided that he might find it if he broke into her house.
Even now, she couldn't find it within herself to blame him. He seemed like a nice enough man after, regardless of the bloody wound on her left leg from where he had slugged her with a crowbar in fear when she screeched as he was rambling passed her on sofa.
He had been arrested and charged with burglary, assault with a deadly weapon, assault on a minor, and breaking and entering despite Marie trying her hardest to get her mother to change her mind. It was her fault she had been left alone at the age of 13 after all, and the man apologized profusely and even broke down on the floor before her, calling 9-1-1 himself, waiting beside her for the ambulance and ultimately, to be taken in. Her mother wouldn't listen to her when she told her that he had kids, and that he was sorry. She was a mother bear and he had harmed her cub, all she heard and saw was red.
Yet, the very next day when Marie was released from the hospital, her mother simply called after she left once more to make sure she locked the door this time.
She'd went to a bar nearly every night since, and Marie's wound slowly healed into a jagged pink scar along her thigh.
Marie's eyes found her mother again after the memory faded, cold hand rubbing against the sensitive spot on her leg out of habit. There were a lot of things she could say. She could tell her mother no, that she wasn't going to sit around and wait for her to wreck on her way home from a bar. That she refused to open the door to yet another cop who was going to tell her about the death of one of her parents.
She had to say something, didn't she? Something profound enough to get her to listen and change her ways. Something that was going to make her realize her faults and break down, ask for forgiveness for all of the mental harm she's brought upon her daughter.
"Okay."
Well that wasn't what she'd wanted to say.
The satisfied look on her mother's face almost made her open her mouth and relinquish her anger, releasing several years of pent up frustrations and rage upon her, allowing them to wash over her like the passing tidal wave of a tsunami. Yet, she couldn't. She wanted to, God did she want to. However, flashes of her mother lying on the floor, surrounded by torn up photos and letters, an empty bottle of Jack Daniels beneath her curled fingers hushed the young girl before any noise could escape, leaving her mouth wide open like she expected her mother to toss one of her macaroni rocks into it to score 3 points.
Marie's mouth was still agape as she walked out the door, waving to her daughter as she closed it and ventured off to her impending doom. Maybe not a mortal doom, but at least it was dooming on her liver and morality.
Marie wondered if the bartender realized she had a daughter. Did they know she was leaving her child (albeit an adult one) at home while she drank her sorrows away? Whenever they handed her another glass, did they ever tell her it was time to go home? Ask her what she was doing there and why? Had her mother ever gone to Logan's bar? Maybe, but Marie trusted Logan enough to know that he wouldn't have let her mother continue to go there if she had. Logan was a good man, you know? At least, she was pretty sure. Maybe some other kid wasn't as lucky to be friends with him. Maybe some other kids parent was at his bar right now, blowing money that could be spent on their school clothes or food.
She was sure she wouldn't be able to aide someone's addiction, even if her job depended on it.
A strange urge took hold of Marie, flushing her body of any reason. She wasn't entirely sure what it stemmed from. Maybe some deep hidden spite, or even possibly the piece of her that just wanted to understand what the big deal was. Logan was so high and mighty when it came to alcohol, not even willing to let her have a taste. What was that all about? What was the reason? Why was it such a big deal?
Her mother had been nearly absent from her life for years, and all for what? A cheap buzz and a night you can't remember? Well, screw that. Marie wanted to experience it first hand. She wasn't willing to just sit back innocently, completely unaware of the world around her.
That's how she found herself in her bedroom, shimmying into a pair of dark tight jeans and a white halter top. She at least had enough thought to not wear heels- they wouldn't be necessary for where she was going. Still, she wasn't exactly experienced in the art of picking bar clothes, so she slipped on some leather boots, hoping they'd make her look just a little bit older.
She painted years onto her face, ignoring the feeling in her heart from it. This was the most adult thing she had ever done and it somehow was dragging away her youth, locking it upon the top shelf in her closet, soon to gain dust amongst her abandoned tassels. Grabbing that sadness by the throat, she threw it carelessly upon the shelf as well. This night was about understanding her mom and hopefully slipping into her mind for even just a moment. If she could manage to do that, then maybe she could manage to look at the woman without hating her.
Marie was almost out of the bedroom when her eyes caught a picture of Eric Masters that hung on her wall. It had been there since the fifth grade when he was the lead singer of the boy band "Love Punch". At this point, she left it there for nostalgia, still able to see the glint of lip gloss covering his chin from a particularly hormone filled time in her early teens. However, as she stopped just before the door and stared at the boy who she never knew, yet haunted her preteen fantasies, something in her cracked. Her dull nails tore through the worn out paper, shredding it to pieces, scraping the old paint behind it. His eyes fell on her right shoe and half of his lip landed somewhere between her bed and the wall, but she yanked those up and continued to tear until the once handsome boy resembled nothing more than a puzzle, never to be put together again.
In the aftermath, she realized that had been her first step into her mother's mind.
It terrifiedher.
At 9:45, she was out the door with a leather jacket on her back, hair tied in a loose bun at the back of her neck, feet bringing her to her bike before she even processed that it was her only transportation. Yeah, that'll make you look of-age.
She stood there for several moments before she had formulated her order of operations. It was the perfect plan, and she quite literally clapped herself on the back for thinking of it. Then she mounted her bike with determination, and took off.
The ride took about twenty minutes. It barely took two before she became imeasurably glad she had decided against doing her hair because the Alabama heat was already adding several inches of frizzy volume. A few loose tendrils slicked to her face with sweat, and as she wiped it away, some of her makeup was transferred to her sleeve in an off white mess. When she was a little ways down the street from the bar she had googled, she hopped off leaving the bike somewhere in the shadows, a tightly bound lock wrapped around a staple covered light pole, and then headed off into the direction of dulled neon lights..
Marie had never attempted 'sexy'. Wasn't sure she would know how to seduce someone even if she had been given a script and a producer. Still, she placed a slight sway in her hips that felt anything but natural, licking the salty-bitter liquid that was perched on the top of her reddened lips.
Her feet pattered across the pavement a little faster than could be considered completely calm and collected, but besides that and the newborn deer wobble in her ankles, she was the posterchild for lackadaisical. As if she did this all the time.
As if she didn't feel like she was losing a part of herself.
In her inexperienced mind, she had imagined bouncers standing outside waiting for people like her to try to walk in. But this was a dive bar, not a club. They'd ID her when she ordered a drink, which meant she'd be looked at more than one time. Her underage ID sat like an anchor in her pocket, demanding attention and guilt. There was no way they wouldn't ID her. She looked like a child in her mother's clothing, and she was beginning to feel like one too.
Glancing up at bright sign swarmed in insects that read Lamarck's, her heart began to hammer in fear. This was never going to work, she should just turn around and get back on her childish bike, get back to her childhood home, and sit on the same couch she had been sitting on since she was a child to watch weird reality show re-runs. That's what she usually did on a Friday night, and tonight shouldn't be any different.
So why then did she push the heavy door open, ignoring every inch of her body that screamed and pleaded to leave, stepping into the noisy bar and letting out a relieved sigh to know that not everyone was going to spin around on her and accuse her of the crime she was about to oh-so-desperately try to commit? Her reasoning was lost in the mixed emotions bombarding her at the time, and clearly so was her usually thick line between right and wrong. If it had been there, she'd have seen the bright orange sign flashing "WRONG" in her head, and hightailed it out of there before the next glass hit the counter.
The room before her was larger than the outside led you to believe, tables set up in an almost restaurant style. The back wall was pretty much entirely the bar, mismatched stools placed unevenly apart against it. There were lights at the top, parallel to the counter top, but the rest of the room relied on flashing and colorful lights lining the walls. It smelled of something she couldn't quite put her finger on, and while it wasn't pleasant, it wasn't entirely unpleasant either.
She sucked up her fear into a tight ball, and placed it right in the pit of her stomach for it to fester and grow, where she would release it in tears later that night. But for now, it was just a tight feeling in her stomach that she could deal with. Her small fingers gripped the ends of her jacket sleeves, pushing herself to an empty stool near the back left corner of the bar. She saw the back of one of the bartenders, and another turned towards the patrons with a small laugh as he took another order.
By the time she sat down, most of her energy was gone, and with it, her restlessness. It was easier to put on a façade of nonchalance when your body was just too tired to give a damn, and that's how she found herself leaning against the bar, looking around the place carefully, chipped fingernail hands folded on the counter in front of her.
"Well, hello there," a voice called, and Marie could almost see the smile in it without even looking. "What can I get you to drink?"
When she looked up, she saw the bartender standing before her, a soft smile on his lips. He was a shorter man, bad posture and a long nose, but he seemed nice. Something in his curious eyes told her she wouldn't get away with ordering anything alcohol, so she didn't even try. Being there was good enough for now. "Do you have iced tea?"
The man's smile grew then, nodding to her with the patience befitting a teacher. "Yes ma'am, we sure do. Best in all of Alabama."
Marie chuckled then too, leaning forward on her hand. "That's quite the declaration. Careful there, you might just make me test it." After it came out, Marie had to hold back the grimace that came from within. Where the hell had that even come from?
"I'd be more offended if you didn't," he patted the counter top, then lifted a finger and pointed at her. "An iced tea for the pretty girl, coming right up."
She released a relieved sigh when he stepped away. That hadn't been so bad. In fact, she had felt almost comfortable. Sure, there were a lot of people, but they all seemed to be minding their own business and none of them were people she recognized. Then again, she didn't get out much.
Looking back to find the bartender making her tea, her calm body immediately froze up, soft sultry eyes transforming into those of a child once more. In the spot she had just seen the unnamed bartender, she saw none other than Logan, one hand holding a glass and the other holding the rag cleaning it. However, his hands were no longer moving. In fact, none of him was moving. It was as if someone had stopped time for only Logan, like some cruel twist of fate. Of course, that only lasted until he forcefully shoved the glass back on the shelf behind him, pushing his colleague out of the way in his attempt to get somewhere. But where was he- Oh. Marie hadn't realized the entire time she had been looking at him, he had been looking at her too.
