Chapter 3

Charity walked home in the midst of a group of chattering, giggling girls of her acquaintance; her head was in the clouds, and she was in contact with reality only intermittently as she talked excitedly with them hardly believing that it was true.

She had stayed after school for the auditions for the annual school musical production. Her singing and acting had been outstanding, and she had been selected to sing the leading female role. She couldn't believe her ears when the final announcement had been made just a few minutes before as she sat in the auditorium surrounded by several of the other girls who were trying out for parts. There had been screams of excitement and general confusion after the announcements. Needless to say, she was elated. Getting the leading role in the musical was one of the things she had dreamed about, but she had worked, too. She had worked hard at her music and dramatics. It was the hard work that had paid off for her.

The drama teacher had talked with her, briefly, after the auditions, questioning her concerning her plans for further education and suggesting that she consider applying for various scholarships.

"They've an excellent Drama Department at Redfern College, and I'd be willing to recommend you... Charity," he told her.

"My folks don't have much money... It'd be..." she began.

"Scholarships go begging every year... I'll help you get started, and the earlier the better!" She was still walking on air after her talk with the drama coach, her mind filled, now, with impossible dreams.

One sad note entered her thoughts. She hoped and prayed that this year her parents would attend the musical production. The year before, as a high school junior, she had sung an important supporting role in the musical. She had been happy and elated with her accomplishment, and had looked forward to the night when her parents would be in the audience. On the night of the performance, however, her mother had had to go to work at the last moment to replace a waitress who had called in saying she was sick and couldn't work. Charity had been disappointed. Her mother had said, "Charity... you understand, don't you... we need the money, and my boss isn't able to get anyone else, just now."

Charity had understood with her mind. Yes, it was true they needed the money, but she needed something money couldn't buy... she needed her father and mother in that audience watching her and listening to her... she needed their moral support to complete the reason for her effort. It was not too much she was asking: Three hours of her parents' time, spent in the darkened auditorium enjoying the world of make-believe she was helping to create on the stage.

Well, even if both her parents couldn't be there, her father would be, she told herself, but in this hope, she was disappointed, too. Her world had been shattered when he didn't show up. He had gotten drunk with some of his cronies, forgetting all about his daughter's great performance. An evening that should have been a high point in her life had turned sour, and she cried herself to sleep that night in her loneliness.

Charity was walking alone, now, along the avenue. She heard the roar of her brother's motorcycle as he overtook her and passed her. She flashed a smile at him, but he didn't stop. It wasn't unusual; it was only occasionally that he would stop to give her a ride home, but today, especially, she had wanted to talk to Donnie. She wanted to tell him about her having won the leading role in the musical. She had to tell him, because mom would be at work and dad was probably out somewhere drinking. Even if he were home, he'd probably be half-soused, she decided. Anyway, there was no talking to dad. He talked to everybody except his family. She knew of her father's reputation as a talker; it was an embarrassment to her to know that he was one of the town drunks, a character known as Gabby Scott. His loud-mouth ways, quick temper and ready fists had landed him in jail for short stretches on more than one occasion. And mom... ? She wouldn't be able to see her until morning... that is if she hadn't had to work overtime and was sleeping later than usual.

She let herself into the house. Donnie's cycle was parked in the drive, but he was nowhere to be seen. She was surprised not to find him in the kitchen gobbling down a snack. Her father, also, was apparently not at home. She headed for her own room, but on impulse, she went on through the kitchen to the back porch and knocked, softly, on his bedroom door.

"Donnie... ?" she called.

"Yeah..." His voice a croak.

"I wanted to tell you something..."

"Flake off!" he grunted.

"I got the lead... in the musical... And..." she faltered, feeling his rebuff.

"Big deal!"

She recognized, then, that something was wrong. "Are you all right... Donnie... ?" she queried.

"Get the hell out of here!" he roared. "Get off my back... just get the hell off my back... damn you!"

Charity turned from his door, not understanding, a tear welling into each eye to run down her cheeks, and went into her own room. Dear God what's happening to us... to our family?

For the second time, the thought worked to the surface of her conscious mind. I'd be better off... if. I didn't live here! I feel like I could run away... maybe run away with Donnie! He said he felt the same way... and was going to do it pretty soon. I wonder if... he'd take me with him... ? We could go on the street together... and help each other... and look out for each other. It would be just the two of us... the two of us... against the world... !"

She realized that something must be bothering her brother. He was sometimes moody and treated her badly, but he always came around. Later, he would rap with her about the musical and tell her how glad he was that she had gotten the part.

Don, meanwhile, lay flat on his back, on his narrow bed, smoked a cigarette and tried to find some answers for himself. His body hurt, horribly, from the blows he had received at the handsããand feetããof Jack Roberts and his two hangers-on.

Right after he had let himself in the house, he had gone, immediately, to the drawer in his parents' bedroom where his mother kept her extra cash, took a twenty dollar bill, put it in his wallet and went directly to his room. He felt a qualm of conscience, knowing that what he was doing was wrong... but rationalizing with himself that he could not do differently. He had to have the money! It was expedient to take it from his mother's cache. He had a passing thought concerning the possibility of trying to return it, later, but he knew that would not be possible... at least, not right away; especially, after she had discovered its disappearance. He had already decided to take it... and he would lie, if necessary, after his mother discovered its loss. God! He was in a real bind! They'll cut me up... sure as hell... if I don't pay up!

Then, he had stripped himself naked, in the privacy of his room, to examine his injuries. There was no blood, no broken bones, but the bruises were already evident. He would be awfully sore and stiff. In a little while, he would go take a hot, soaking bath to allay some of the soreness.

Damn! It's muscle and organization! That's what Jack's got! And there's no fighting it alone! Christ! Three to one! I didn't have a fucking chance!

His mind raced. His thoughts dealt with revenge, planning how he would even the score with competition, trying to think of ways to hurt Jack Roberts, fighting fire with fire, as it were. He couldn't settle anything, but he knew that Don Scott had been made a fool of... for the last time. He was going to play it smart and cool... never allow himself to get into any kind of bind at all, and he would do all and more that Jack Roberts was doing. When the time came, he would take care of Jack... and Marcy! Just use my head from now on! Brains! Muscle! Organization! That's for me, man! Yeah!

He put on a bathrobe and went into the bathroom. There was only the one connecting bath in the house, making it necessary to go through one or the other of the bedrooms. He chose to go through Charity's room, thinking he might get to see her nude body, again.

Not knocking at her door, he went in. She was just taking off her bra, the only garment she wore, and just before she turned her back on him, clutching at herself to cover her nakedness, gasping out a frightened Donnie!, he saw her in all her luscious, young beauty: The mounding swell of her breasts, high and proud, her smooth, white thighs, her full, soft, rounded buttocks and the curling reddish hair at the Vee of her thighs. "Sorry, Sis!" he mumbled, not at all sorry, but happy with what he had seen.

"Ugh! How many times do I have to tell you to knock!" she stormed, angrily, as he went on into the bathroom.

Turning back to her, as he closed the door, he said, "Don't get Shook, Charity... I've Seen naked women before!"

He closed the door quickly; she had just hurled a shoe at him, with another Snort of irritation. Inside, the bathroom he took off his robe to reveal an almost instantaneous erection, spearing out from his loins, thick and hard. He reached down to massage and caress it with a hand. Christ! She's beautiful! Man... how I'd like to get it into her... if she just wasn't my sister!

Charity was irritated with her brother for his frank appraisal of her body. It seemed he had "accidentally" been seeing an awful lot of her nakedness, lately. She was embarrassed by his lustful stare, each time he had walked in on her like this. He looks at me... like he does at those pictures in the books and magazines he reads!

She remembered how her cheeks had flushed when he had shown her a particularly suggestive picture of a couple in lewd copulation. "Donnie! That's not very nice!"

"Get with it, Sis!" he had told her. "Sex is here to stay!"

Then she remembered what he had just said. "I've seen naked women before!" He hadn't said girls... he said women! Donnie considers me a woman!

She looked at herself in the mirror, tipping it and standing tall to see as much of herself as she could. What she saw, she liked, for the first time. Yes! He's right! I'm really a woman... almost a full-grown woman!

Gabriel Scott was living up to his nickname. He was gabbing with an old buddy in one of his favorite bars, feeling the buzz of several drinks. Warming up to the subject of the moment, something to do with State politics and the ancestry of the incumbent Governor; he had just made an especially deprecating remark that elicited guffaws from his drinking partner when a well-dressed, rather full-faced man took the stool next to him and ordered an Old Fashioned. Gabby glanced around at him, smiled an amiable greeting and dismissed him. The man was a business-type, probably a salesman. He went on with his conversation.

Something he overheard from the man next to him caused him to prick up his ears and listen more closely. The man had asked about a woman... a woman named Dottie!

"Yeah... I got a real good lay with her a couple of days ago, when I was through here... thought I'd look her up, again!"

"Sorry, Buddy... I can't help you..." the bartender said.

"Name's Dottie Scott... good looking... damn good legs... and she really knows how to wriggle her ass! Hell! It cost me twenty bucks for less than an hour with her!"

The bartender looked aghast at him, then cast a surreptitious glance at Gabby Scott. Good Christ! Gabby's wife! "Look, Buddy! I think you'd better drop it... just a word to the wise!"

Scott was off his chair, his fists swinging in short, punishing arcs, and the salesman was on the floor, in seconds. Gabby's drinking buddy grabbed him to keep him from changing the man's sex as he aimed a deadly kick at the salesman's groin. The bartender called the police, and Gabby was arrested and booked on a disturbance of the peace charge. The salesman was pretty badly shaken up. He told the arresting officer that he was thinking of preferring a charge of assault, against his attacker.

"Damned if I know what got into him!" he told the bartender.

"Dottie Scott is his wife!" he told the salesman, levelly. "Now, get the hell out of here!"

"It's a fact... What I said,"

"Maybe Gabby'll want to sue for slander... now, just leave my bar, Fella!... I don't like your kind of business!" the bartender said. He was exasperated. Trouble like this was bad for business... and he could care less how many guys Dottie laid. It was none of his business... up to the time it began to affect the patronage of his bar. Then, he didn't want any more to do with it. The stupid ass could take his problems some other place!

The salesman slapped a bill on the bar and growled. "Mighty friendly place you got here!" His voice dripped with sarcasm. He left the bar and went back to his motel to take care of his cuts and bruises. Damn! That was a coincidence! Who'd ever think the broad's husband'd be sitting right next to me? Well, he'll be in jail for a few days! Then, the idea hit him! He's in jail! Obvious!

It was about 8:30 p.m. when Dottie was called to the telephone. She took it behind the bar. It was her husband, Gabe; his voice came to her distant and strained.

"Dottie... I'm being booked... down here at the jail," he said... can you go bail for me... ?"

"What happened? Why were you arrested?" she worried.

"I hit a guy... in a bar! I was under the influence..."

"Whatever for..."

"You and me'll talk about that, later!" he said grimly; then, more placatingly, "... But, I don't want to spend the night in jail! Can you get me out?"

"Gabe... I can't! We're short-handed here... and if I walked out... I'd get fired sure!" she explained. "I'll come down first thing tomorrow morning... all right... ?"

"Hell no... it ain't all right... but if that's the way it is... I guess I'll have to live with it!" He growled and hung up.

She stared at the silent receiver, replacing it in its cradle, absently, trying to fathom what he meant. How could she be involved? What dark reason was there for her husband to beat up another man in a bar? Who was it? Why? WHY? There were no answers coming her way, and there was a customer signaling for her. She moved out to the floor, going about her work in a daze. Dear God... what's happened? I wish I knew! Oh, how I wish I knew!

About ten o'clock, the traveling man came into the cocktail lounge. Dottie recognized him, at once, but there was no way she could avoid him; she had to take his order, Serve him his drink... and talk to him, if she had to do so The owner wanted happy, satisfied customers. It was that simple, and since he had chosen to sit alone in one of the booths rather than at the bar, she went, reluctantly, to take his order.

"Hello, Dottie..." he leered in a sarcastic tone of voice, "I'll have Scotch on the rocks."

She hurried away to fill his order, not wanting to talk to him. He was slow with the money when she brought his drink. His question was direct, however. "How about a little party, tonight?"

Her smile was dazzling, artificial, "I'm all tied up," she lied, "for the rest of the night! Maybe... some other time."

Crestfallen, for a moment, he brightened with, "All right... some other time, then. You know I made a swing back down here, on purpose... just to see you, again..."

"I'm flattered... If you'll excuse me... My customers..." she said, grateful that there really was a customer trying to get her attention.

The salesman finished his drink and left the lounge, after a few minutes. Dottie breathed a sigh of relief as she watched him go. She had no intention of having anything to do with that man again. He repulsed her.

Dottie fielded a couple of other pick-up proposals, turning them down flat. She was worried about Gabe, and she would have to arise earlier in the morning, in order to get downtown, to arrange bail for her husband. She was in no mood for anything involving sex.

Finishing her shift at the usual time, around 10:30, she hurried to her car and drove home. For some reason, she felt apprehensive, and she laid it to her worry over her husband, Gabe; additionally, she couldn't get rid of the threat, the darkly veiled subject Gabe had hinted at in his telephone call to her, a subject that, somehow, concerned her. She had still not been able to fathom what it was.

She parked her car in the driveway, noting that Donnie's motorcycle was not there. The boy was still out, somewhere, but it was nearing the time when he should be coming home. She would have to speak to him, again, about his late hours. It had been past one in the morning, the last time he was so terribly late. That boy is starting to run wild!... But he's a good boy... Donnie always has been good... but lately, he seems to be getting more and more independent... and rebellious!

The front door lock was stubborn, and she jiggled the key around, trying several times before it finally opened. As the door swung open and she took a step inside, a dark figure lurking in the shadows of the porch came up behind her, gave her a push, stepped inside and closed the door. It was a man. Fear pounded into her, as she stumbled across the floor from the impetus of his shove. She wanted to scream. She opened her mouth, but she was seized from behind, her arms pinioned, a hand clapped over her mouth. There was a raspy, low voice in her ear, "Take it easy... Dottie! Don't scream Don't make a sound... I don't want to hurt you!" It was the salesman from the bar. "Understand?"

Dottie nodded her head in the affirmative. She Wouldn't scream, now; at least, she knew who it was. He was not a complete stranger to her. After all, she had bedded him once, already. No! He Was not a stranger, yet she knew, instinctively, that she should not trust him. He removed his hand from her mouth.

"Wh-What are y-you doing h-here?" she demanded, peering him in the dim glow of the night light in her living room.

"I knew you lied!" he accused. "There's nobody else... Tonight!"

"Th-That's right! And this is my home you've come busting into!" she hissed, aware that Charity was sleeping only a few paces away, in her bedroom.

"And we're going to have that little party!" he leered. "Right here!"

"No! No, W-We're not! I'm g-going to s-scream... call the p-police... a-and have you arrested f-for b-breaking in h-here... and t-trying t-to molest m-me!"

He laughed a hard, brittle laugh. "Like hell! I'll tell them you invited me... promised me a piece of ass... for a price!"

"Y-You w-wouldn't dare... ?"

"Wouldn't I?" He was confident. "This town's got laws against prostitution... hasn't it? What is it... thirty days?"

She sat down, heavily, resignedly, and looked up at him. "Yes... a-and a f-fine... I think..."

"You've never been run-in, then... there's always a first time."

"No... I-I've been careful... my h-husband doesn't su- suspect..." she faltered.

"He knows now! That's why he's in the lock-up!" The salesman fingered the bruise on his jaw.

"H-How... ?"

"I was asking about you. He over heard me... and started beating me up!"

"Oh! No!?"

"That's the way it was!" he gloated. "Now, he's in jail... and you and I are alone..."

"And y-you expect m-me t-to... ?"

"You're going to get fucked... but good!"

She panicked for a moment. "N-Not h-here! Th-This's my h- home... !"

"What difference does that make?"

"M-My d-daughter... she's asleep..."

"Don't worry about it... It's you I want!"

Dottie thought fast. She could demand a higher fee, discourage him, perhaps, in his pursuit of her. "I-It'll cost y- you f-fifty dollars!" she said with some firmness.

"I'll pay you!" he snarled. "But, I'll pay you exactly what you're worth, Bitch!" He took out his wallet, removed a twenty dollar bill and thrust it at her. "In advance!"

She made no move to take it from him. At that point, the money really made little difference to her. Her naming a fifty dollar fee was only a ply. It was useless, she decided. The salesman seemed to hold the high cards.

"Take it, God damn you... or are you trying to make out you're too good for me?"

She spat at him, the sputum spattering his jacket. His reaction was swift. He slapped her on the side of the face, his palm smacking loudly in the still house. She looked up at him, her hand going to her face. She was dry-eyed. She would not cry for him.

"All right... y-you bastard!" she said, tonelessly. "Y-You win! D-Don't h-hit m-me, again..."

It had ever been thus: Her fear of pain subjugated her. One slap and she caved in, the fight gone from her. Gabe knew it... and used it, when he wanted to subdue her, bend her to his will, and this man had accidentally found her weakness. She would do his bidding, now, for she was a physical coward. It bothered her, but she could do nothing for herself in the face of physical violence, except to submit to the will of the one who perpetrated it upon her. Dear God! P-Please... ? I-I don't w-want to be h-hurt...