lulusgardenfli: Frank and Johnny and the whole Allen family coming right up! Hope you like what I got here, its a wringer.
lovelyhatter:Ah, I'm glad you think Wendy's a Sweetheart! I hope you keep reviewing!
Chapter XXI
S*S
Shit.
Shitshitshit-
Johnny wasn't no stranger to the rule Life 'ad seen fit to make him live under -the one which clearly stated, in plain black an' white, that everything that could go wrong for 'im would go wrong. Especially when things were just goin' good.
He knew this was a lousy idea. His instincts weren't usually wrong on these things, and they'd been blaring like a fire engine, the moment Wendy invited him inside. But just like the guy in the Greek myth -the one that took twenty dang years gettin' home- he hadn't been able to resist the siren's song of wanting to understand how Wendy lived.
Wanting to see her world.
And for a brief moment he had seen it -in a space larger than his house and the Curtis home combined, built out of a million delicate things that had no business being in here, never mind making up a home. Following Wendy's lead, he had taken his shoes off and left 'em by the door like Moses, and winced when his realized his socks had holes in them. So he'd made conscious effort not to look at his feet and draw attention to 'em; instead focusing on the the pasta out and then working a nicer stove than he'd ever seen (didn't require a kick to get it started like Mrs. C always had to do), trying to to either bring this world down to his leave or make himself equal to it.
-now her world, and it's keeper, were coming up the hall to meet 'em, and all Johnny could think of was Wendy's 'Family Trouble' and wondering if he should put himself in front of her.
That idea shot itself when the first things to greet 'em wasn't the man of the house, but Wendy's brothers, walking in clearly unafraid -if understandable surprise- to see him there.
"Johnny," the talkative one -Sam- said, while his twin -Eric, he thought- blinked in surprise. "What are you doin' here?"
"Hey kid," he greeted, glad that nothing in his voice was different, same for being a little quieter. "I'm just-"
"Wendy, whose this?" asked the soft voice of the shadow behind them. And a hand reached out, rested on Eric's shoulder (much to the kid's evident surprise), drawing the boy back as he came forward; head tilted in baffled non-understanding -the way Wendy would, when she didn't have an immediate answer to a question in class- as he stared at Johnny.
And for the sweet life of him, he couldn't do nothin' but stare back, taking the man in as the wind beat the earth and howled outside.
He was definitely a Soc...with his clothing finely tailored and matched like all his children. But...they rested on him funny, like the clothes on a crucified scarecrow pretending to be human, while hanging like strange fruit over a world he sired, but left to its own downfall.
And something inside him simultaneously relaxed and tensed. Specially when that tried brown gaze shifted over him, his clothes yes- and Johnny resisted the urge to slouch and shove his hands in his pockets- but lingered on his face. More specificity his eyes.
Though, beyond blind alarm, Johnny didn't have the slightest clue as to what the man was gonna fine there.
"Dad, this is my friend form school," Wendy introduced him primly. Pin straight, and her voice Snow White high: in a way he never heard it before.
"Uh, John Cade, sir," he interjected, in what he hoped wasn't a mumble -never was no good at talkin' to adults- and holding out a hand. But his attempt at his 'adult' name felt like a false skin and he quickly shed it.
"Um, folks call me Johnny though."
Mr. Allen nodded, slowly, before folding his hand in a grip that...felt like Johnny was only grasping air. The boys eyed each other, as their father colored and straightened, their small lips pulling, though they sobered when Wendy shot 'em a warning glance before continuing. "We're project partners in school, and I invite him over to work when it got nasty out. We already got sauce going, soyouguyswanttositandwe'llfinishupandweeat?"
Four pairs of eyes blinked at her, uncomprehending. Was that English? Johnny wasn't sure, and neither were the rest of 'em. Though Wendy's Dad seem to slowly translate it.
"Alright honey," he said, though Johnny still didn't know what the hell anyone agreed too. But Wendy brightened, and he tried to take that as a good sign as she thanked her father and dragged him by the sleeve back to the stove.
S*S
Not that it was much of a surprise, but Johnny didn't have a lot of experience talking to the parents of girls. Darry an' Steve an' Two-Bit an' especially Soda did (Dal didn't count here, since the girls he dated didn't give a rat's ass if their parents like 'im or not.) And all four of 'em had talked freely about what it was like to be in the hot seat; insisting that where it was the father that that would gladly put you in the electric chair and flip the switch, the mother could be appealed to for mercy.
But here, there was no mother -less you counted Wendy's sister, who breezed in all wild haired and Ann-Margret eyed, just as they were setting the spaghetti on the table and her Dad was in the bathroom. An' it was all Johnny could do to not chock in panic when her lips purse, eyebrow arched, and she looked him up and all the way down before her mouth curved up the way Sylvia's did around him sometimes, when Dally wasn't looking.
"So Wen," she drew out slowly, finger twirled in her hair, smiling like the cat with the canary. "This is Joseph?"
Joseph? He glanced at Wendy, and saw she'd gone beat red; and realized he was on his own here.
"Uh, Johnny actually," he corrected, as he slumped in his seat. Wendy's sister sniggered.
"Right Joseph," she winked, and Wendy sat up ram straight, eyes flaring as her red deepened to match the sauce.
"Wanna sit down, Con?" she asked her sister. "That is, if you remember which seat is yours."
Her bottle green eyes narrowed, ever so slightly. "I remember just fine. When I want to."
Wendy flared up at that, in a way that Johnny never seen before...but honestly looked damn good on her, cheeks flushed and gentle eyes ready to fling a zinger. Johnny swallowed a grin, the coals of his eyes lighting up. Yeah...her sister might've been Ann-Margret. But here was Audrey Hepburn.
"Just ignore 'em, they do this every time," Sam advised him. Eric nodded wisely, as their father came back and joined them.
"Connie," he said in clear surprise. She looked back at him, bored.
"Hey Dad," she drone, in a voice that would've had Johnny bleeding on the floor at his house.
Dinner continued, on clinking plates that looked too valuable for such a casual dinner.
Glory what would the guys say if they could see him now?
...Well, Dally would be looking at what things could be picked up and swipe. Two-Bit would be diving into the fridge for some of the wine he seen there. Soda would be flirting with Connie, Steve definitely be checking out the cars, and Pony would be lost combing the bookshelf that lined the walls.
'Bout fifteen minutes into the thing, it was clear that Mr. Allen had the flames of exhaustion licking at his rear, slumping him in his seat, to the chagrin but not the surprise of his children. And Johnny tried not to stare as the man's life seem to seep out of him as he struggled to rise from his place at the head of the table. He stumbled, and on instinct, Johnny caught his arm and held him up.
"Thank you son," he said weary, shamefaced. The kind'a shame Johnny knew too damn well.
"...Ya welcome, sir," he muttered back, trying hard and failing not to look at Wendy, and the pain in her gaze as she hustled the boys from the table so they didn't have to see this, bringing 'em up the stairs.
"Put 'im in his chair," Connie ordered sharply, sashaying angry into the living room and pointing to the seat in question, a comfortable looking recliner. Once they had the Allen Patriarch settle...he was out shortly after, like wind blown over a candle.
Connie Allen closed her eyes and crossed her arms, breathing deeply. When Wendy came back downstairs and joined them, she opened one eye and peered at him.
"It's getting late," Connie said. "I'll drive ya home Joseph."
"...Johnny," he murmured back, hands losing their fight to stay out of his pockets. "But uh, thanks."
"Okay then people," Connie popped in her mouth, clapping her hands. "In the car."
S*S
Johnny gave directions to the Curtis House, and Wendy peered curiously at it from her seat. It was small of course, like most places on the east side, but it glowed merrily in the sudden fall of snowy rain with something gold and homely. Wendy could see Ponyboy Curtis do a double take out the window, eyes going wide before he turned to call to others.
"Looks like you've made a scene," Connie noted.
"Yeah," Johnny said, neck red as more of the guys scrambled on top of each other, poor Ponyboy getting unceremoniously booted from his place in the front by larger and stronger bodies. Before he got out, he gazed at Wendy, soft and burning.
"...Sunday, right?" he asked carefully.
"Sunday," she agreed, smiling goodbye. Johnny grinned, and made a run for the door. Con waited till his friends hauled him inside before she drove off for home.
S*S
"...So, Blessed Virgin Wendy," Connie drawled, when they were halfway home. "Guess you were right before. He is a 7.5 after all."
Her mouth peeled up, berry red and perfect while Wendy stared in shock.
"Not bad sis. Gotta say, 'm impressed."
It took a moment for those words to catch up with Wendy's brain. But when they did, a timid smile worked it's way over her face.
"...thanks, Connie."
"Memhem. Now on a scale of one to ten, how good does he kiss?"
"Connie!"
"What, you haven't figured that out yet?"
"Con!"
"If you don't, I might have to try...he like cherry bam?"
Annnd the good mood was gone. Wendy saw green. Then red.
"Connie don't you dare!"
"Why not, hon?" Connie mocked, a vine of ivy crawling up her eyes. "You clearly don't mind stealing boyfriends..."
"Steal-! I didn't steal anything Con!" Wendy cried, feeling the burn of tears. She stamped her foot -best she could in the car as they pulled in the drive way. Getting out, they ran through the open storm into the larger one waiting in the house. "And I don't want Pescare! I never wanted him! He won't leave me alone-!"
"Oh, really?"
Connie marched her soggy self down the hall to the answering machine that Wendy had taken to had avoiding the last two weeks. She cringed.
"Ah, Connie don't-"
Connie's finger hit play button.
"Hey, Wendy, it Jack Pescare, listen baby, wanna go to the movies-"
"Wendy, it's Jack, the weekends comin' an'-"
"Wen, how bout we-"
Connie turned the machine off.
"You were saying?" she asked chillingly, through gritted teeth, and the silence burned between them.
Wendy swallowed. Hard. Jack had gotten their number through Beth Mays (again, still failing to see such a plan helped the girl herself) and ever since then this trouble had penetrated the peace and quiet of their home. Not used to getting a lot of calls -that was Connie's thing- Wendy had picked it up the first few times, hoping it was Johnny -he had her number after all. But it was always Jack. And every time he called...his language got dirtier and dirtier, to the point where Wendy started deleting them right after least the twins or their father heard.
Either option promised to kill her.
"...I can't control what he does, Con," Wendy said lowly, fist clenched.
"Bull," Connie hissed, something harsh and clawing reaching out of her. "He's doing this because your being a prudish little bitch!"
Wendy's mouth fell open, and her eyes flew to make sure their father was still asleep, and she prayed the boys were upstairs. Bad as things could get between the Allen sisters...they'd never sworn at each other like this before. Mama would've tanned their hides.
Meanwhile Con continued, jabbing a finger under her nose. "If you lay off being the Virgin Wendy for once and threw a date his way, all this'd be over by now! He'd see what a boring little square you are and been done! But nooo...ya have to be perfect!"
Now she was crying -with hurt or rage or helplessness or everything in between, Wendy didn't know. And she didn't know who this bitter, lank haired, mack-up smeared creature before her was. But it wasn't the Connie that once played double dutch and Mary Mac with her, wasn't the Connie that taught her how to braid her hair. This wasn't her sister.
Thunder crash, and the sky weep with her.
"So here what's gonna happen -I'm pass it onto him through the school's grape vine that you've come 'round are are willing to go on a kiddie date with him-"
"Connie!"
"-a one and done kinda deal-"
"No!"
"Yes," Connie mocked. She snorted. "Then watch as things go back to normal 'round here."
Wendy could pull her hair out. "And what if they don't Con?!"
Sharp eyes narrowed, her lip curled, and suddenly Connie's hands slammed themselves into Wendy's shoulders, knocking down off her feet and taking a chair with her, the same time white lighting lit up the room like the inside of a firecracker. Wendy gasped, and Connie looked down at her hands, then up at her sister, before her eyes harden and her jaw set.
"They better," she said icily, Wendy shuddered at how much Connie look like their mother, cringing at how disappointed she looked. "Or it's gonna get real uncomfortable in this place. And who knows? Maybe me and Joseph can get close too."
Wendy curled up, hugging her knees to her chest as Connie started for the stairs. "Did you ever think that maybe a guy that bothers your fifteen year old sister isn't worth it!?"
Connie didn't bother answering, thought she rushed her pace up the stairs so fast, she slipped, bashed her knee, hissed, and ran the rest of the way up, slamming her door.
Wendy stayed where she was, suddenly beyond the point where tears had the power to offer relief. So she was still and let the storm sob for her.
S*S
Next morning was Friday, all trace of storm and snow melted and gone, as if it were never there. But Wendy knew better. Way better. And now she was waiting for the last semblance to turn up as she walked with her head down into Will Rogers, saying nothing. Doing nothing. Offering the barest shrugs to concerned questions and looks from Marcia and Cherry. She just didn't have anything to say.
She'd never known Con not to make good on her word. So she was wait. Through gym class, through study hall. Sitting apart from the rest at lunch. And some sixth sense of hers told her that the waiting would be done when she returned to her locker to get her book for art class.
"Hey Wendy."
She almost rolled her eyes, if she could get her head outta the fog. Not much for originality here, huh?
"So I heard you changed you mind."
So Connie did it. She really, honestly, did it. Something inside her crumpled, hard and fast. And cried for logic. Where was the sense? His stupid hand was in her hair again.
"Sooo, how 'bout I take you for ice cream at six on Sunday, huh?"
Sunday...Wendy clenched her jaw. Yep, Con had definitely done that on purpose, just to rub it in how powerless she'd made her. But Johnny had mentioned dinner at the Curtis' was at eight...and how long could it take to eat ice cream?
She nearly groaned. She should say no. It was burning in her gut to say no -far deeper than mere annoyance. In that primordial knot something screeched that bad behavior shouldn't be rewarded. But apparently, the rest of the world didn't get the memo. And she was just tired...so tired of fighting.
Besides...she could play it out in her mind how it would go if she said no. Jack would groan and whine about why she hated him for the rest day. Word would get back to Connie. And home would be hell. Where, apparently, harsh words and harsh blows were no longer off the table. And the more Connie leaned that way, the more likely that the boys would be caught in the cross-hairs, sooner than later...likely cause they'd tried to protect her.
From their sister.
Wendy flinched at the thought. Mama would've died...
That wasn't happening to their family...what was left of it anyways.
"...Okay," she mumbled, shuffling, hugging her books to her. And her newly dropped opinion of herself skydived even further, when Jack leaned back and crowed.
"Great! I'll pick you up a five-forty, okay?"
"Sure..."
If Pescare noticed the bursting enthusiasm, he didn't say. The bell rang, so he had to take off. Wendy sighed, and pressed her mouth to the spine of her book.
Maybe...maybe Connie would be right. He'd see just how boring she was and this mess would be over. It was...possible right?
That's what she keep telling herself as she hurried her way to art class, not noticing the pair of dark, coal eyes following her, watching the whole thing from the drinking fountain.
Reviews make me happy so tell me what you thought and I'll update sooner.
Well, poor Wendy having the worst Friday in the history of Fridays. So thing with Connie and Wendy have finally come to ahead, as did Johnny's meeting with the Allen family. Who in their own way are as broken as his own.