Chapter Seven ~ Just Delicious
Despite what ugly things Madame Louisa told Doctor Richard and Vanessa, the two still came to visit me almost every day, sometimes Vanessa visited alone when Doctor Richard was working at the hospital. I knew that Madame Louisa had destroyed my files, and it would now take months for new ones to be printed and mailed to the orphanage, which meant Richard and Vanessa could not take me away until they had signed them. To make those months sweeter Vanessa would bring me story books and puzzles, and cakes and pastries she had baked herself, and new dresses and shoes and even my own pocketbook. It was white patent leather with a long glossy strap, like a cowboy's rope. Even though I knew I didn't deserve it, I admired how it gleamed in the light like water and began to keep my secret things in it—the diamond heart brooch Slappy had given me, and his pocket card with the strange writing printed upon it. During the night I would slide my fingers over the slick, hard glinting surface and place it beside the bed, my treasures safe inside a seashell.
Slappy's clothes now had the odor of cool, wet leaves. No matter how much perfume I sprayed onto his body it wouldn't cover the scent of the leaves, and I was incessantly reminded of the afternoon I shoved him into the bed of dead drenched decay. He was speaking to me again, but I knew he would never forgive me for choosing Doctor Richard over him. I tried to explain that I didn't want Slappy to hurt Doctor Richard, because soon he would take us away and give us a wonderful and exciting life. Slappy had looked at me coldly and said it still wouldn't be any better, because nothing ever really changed for good.
When Doctor Richard and Vanessa visited, we would gather in the moldering gardens outside and watch the yellow leaves fall, or have tea and shortbread in the large freezing sitting room with the white globed ceiling that no one ever used. Slappy was always with me, once I put a shortbread cookie into his placid, dulled mouth which greatly amused Richard and Vanessa. Slappy had spit out the sugared treat with disgust and complained, but of course they thought I had made him do it, and began to tell me I should become a ventriloquist. The books Vanessa bought me included instructions on how to disguise my voice and keep my lips prim as I spoke. I shoved most of them under my bed, I could never imagine taking Slappy before an audience, he would only embarrass me.
Julia would spy on me when Richard and Vanessa came, wherever I was I could feel her sharp little eyes burning into my back. She was envious of the presents I received, and of the attention showered on me day after day. I felt a twinge of sorrow for her, so one evening I offered her a butter cookie from the elaborate tin box Vanessa had given me, and she furiously slapped the tray out of my hand, sending the star-shaped cookies down the staircase to crumble. Slappy tried to kick her but she ran away laughing.
Because of her jealousy, Julia gave Peter and Harold secret missions to humiliate and torment me. They liked to creep into my room at night and steal Slappy while I slept. So far I have found him dressed in my school uniform with lipstick on his mouth and cheeks; once in my frilly peach-colored underwear. I have found him inside of the shiny black upright piano in the music room, stuffed into the ovens of the kitchen, sitting atop the dining table with our breakfasts ruined around him. Of course Madame Louisa blamed me each morning she rose to discover him glaring at her, and I blamed Slappy for my punishments, because he could have easily walked on his own back to my room! Slappy was enjoying my punishment, and I was beginning to grow bitterly angry at him.
I didn't bring Slappy with me anymore to my lessons. Rhonda sat beside me, while Julia, Peter and Harold tossed spitballs at our hair and broken pencils at our backs. When Madame Louisa wasn't looking we passed notes to each other, I asked her what had happened between her and Mr. Grammel, and every day she refused to tell me, she said to even write it down was sinful. And then one day in the hall before lunch, she told me to come to his office at three o'clock the next afternoon, and crouch down to peer through the keyhole.
"But that's during my music lesson!" I cried without thinking. I liked music lessons, because it was the only subject not instructed by Madame Louisa. Her mother, Madame Frieda, taught music. She was so old, and always in a drunken stupor, coming out of her stale musty bedroom to give only music lessons, she was brittle and sweet and floaty. There was such a sea witch gloom that covered Madame Louisa, but none of it darkened Madame Frieda. She liked Judy Garland and Billie Holiday, and had a great stash of records, and she smiled at me while I sang, even though she was half-deaf, she smiled at me from a whole other world, without pity or ridicule. She called me dearie while Peter and Harold hurled drum sticks at my ankles and Julia drooled upon her clarinet.
"It would be all right to miss just one lesson, and I thought you really wanted to know," Rhonda said to me coldly, clutching her yellow notebook tightly to her chest.
"I do want to know, I'm sorry, I've just never missed a lesson before. Of course I will have others. I'll come tomorrow" I attempted to smile but Rhonda whirled around, her long black hair swishing across my notebook, and dashed to the privacy of her room, not caring to have lunch.
My stomach hatched with butterflies as I feverishly imagined what I would see. Would it poison me too? Would I be sinful for looking? What was a sin, really? I didn't bother to ask Slappy, though I'm sure the things he had done must count as sins. I tossed my books onto the bed beside him, where he rested in an icy stillness, and left him alone to go and have my lunch.
I was awake all night, my hands shaking excitedly as I rolled around in bed, annoying Slappy. When Peter and Harold crept in I shot up and growled at them, which sent them running away screeching in fear. I laid back down and gazed at the ceiling, dreamily thinking of Rhonda, feeling queasy with razor-sharp edginess. During breakfast I spilled my glass of orange juice into my oatmeal, Peter stuck his finger in it and said it looked delicious, so I gave it to him. I was too anxious to eat anyway. Restless, I daydreamed through all of my lessons until I found myself crouched down at Mr. Grammel's office door, glancing through the burnished gold of the keyhole.
Already my palms were sweating, I peered into the dark and saw nothing, only the outline of his wooden desk. I heard Rhonda's voice then, saying could she please open the curtains. Gray light illuminated the room and filtered through the keyhole, I could see her standing miserably by the enormous pale glass window, holding her thin left wrist with dismal fingers. I couldn't locate Mr. Grammel anywhere, but heard his heavy work boots stomping around the room. He finally came into view, his bare chest glinting in the gloomy, dim light, his black demon tattoo filling the frame of the keyhole. I gasped and toppled backwards, my heart bursting in my chest, not wanting to see anymore, but I slowly squatted down by the door again, my spine tingling uncomfortably from hunching over, my legs beginning to ache and cramp as I watched.
Rhonda's dress had been removed; she was stretched out across the desk with only her long hair covering her trembling body. Mr. Grammel came and roughly pushed it away, then his fingers did a trickling dance down between her legs. I covered my mouth to hide my ragged breathing as Rhonda began to make animal sounds, and then Mr. Grammel crawled atop her, bucking like the dogs my grandmother used to own, until he too was grunting like some awful animal. When he stood again, he smiled handsomely. Rhonda was crying, her legs glimmered with something sticky, and then she became still as a doll. I was angry; I felt bile warm in my throat. I felt my limbs had been dirtied, I felt betrayed. I could only think of how nice Mr. Grammel had been to me before, how the flesh of my arm sung when he touched it. Why had he chosen Rhonda over me?
I flew back to my room and bolted the door, Slappy sat on the bed with his revolting glassy eyes. I collapsed beside him and hid my face in the pillow, then sat up and began to punch at the feathers softly inside. Slappy watched me curiously.
"Have you lost your head? You're lucky you aren't a dummy, when we lose our heads they usually come back to us with an extra chip!" he snarled with laughter, but I looked at him with disgust and collapsed against the pillow again, pretending to be in a grave as I lay and glared at the ceiling. "What's eating you? Hope you haven't caught any termites from me!" Slappy laughed so hard I thought he could be having a seizure. I wanted him to shut up.
"I saw Mr. Grammel with Rhonda today. They were doing something that looked strange, like swimming atop each other, only there was no water, so it was all very queer," my tongue felt bitter as I spoke, but Slappy was silenced and entranced by what I had told him.
"Tell me about it," he said coolly, propping himself against the wall and listening with rapt interest.
"Well, first Mr. Grammel didn't have any clothes on, and then he took off Rhonda's dress. I thought she must be so cold, with the light from the window pouring over her, and then he slid his hand down, between the little part between her legs,"
"Show me,"
I stared at Slappy, who was engrossed. I felt faint beneath his stern green eyes. "It was like this," I took his cold hand and put it atop my belly, then slowly lifted the waist of my stockings and slid his hand down to the small hollow between my legs. All the while his eyes were hard and transfixed on me. I felt a tingle there, and a sweet softness flowered in my head. My ears hummed, I felt liquid and flushed and terrified. I gulped and withdrew his clammy hand and squirmed away from him.
"Was that all?" he was still absorbed, I had never seen him so dreamlike and relaxed.
I breathed heavily and nodded, although there had been so much more. "Slappy, I'm so dizzy," I whimpered quietly, but he only stared at me with hunger in his eyes. Shame burned my skin but it was exquisite. Sinners must feel this way, falling into a deep black pit but kissing every fine shadow that passed on the way down.
