Crimson Footprints Part 7

Carson nodded. "That's all."

With a shrug she pulled it back on, surprised by how easy it had been.

Mr. Carson had been her beginning, all those years ago. He'd taught her that men lived for their c.o.c.ks, and that if you knew that you knew everything. So, she returned to him again and again, for more than just grades. And Mr. Carson obliged, at first for a peek, and then for a grope, and finally, for no less than a b.l.o.w.j.o.b each time.

For Lizzie, it was a short leap from swallowing c.o.c.k for a good grade to swallowing c.o.c.k for most anything. No man, it turned out, was immune to a young and willing girl with a wet and eager mouth.

CHAPTER NINE.

Architecture. It was order in a world of chaos, sense in a world of madness. It relied on math and science instead of grievances and emotions and rewarded hard work, dedication and achievement. For Deena, it was the only thing that made sense.

Some days she felt like her grandmother loved her. Those were the times when she would welcome Deena, fix her breakfast and fawn over her. They'd talk about whatever projects Deena had planned and the day she would open her own firm. Her grandmother would be so proud of her, tell her how smart she was-as smart as her father.

Then, there were the other days. The days when she looked at her with disgust, spitting venomous words about the similarities between Deena and her mother.

She hated those days.

Standing in her grandmother's kitchen with the sleeves rolled up on her crisp white blouse, Deena grated cheddar for the mac and cheese. She and Lizzie were alone this Sunday, chatting as they waited for their aunts and grandmother to return from a run to the store. She was careful to keep the conversation light-no school, no family, no expectations for the future. So, they stuck to music and movies and other things that didn't matter. And as they talked, their cousin Keisha arrived with two of her four children in tow, and the father of the eldest, Steven "Snowman" Evans.

Deena's back was to the entrance of the kitchen-a gaping squared-out hole in the middle of puke green walls. So she didn't see Snowman until it was too late.

"Deena, my favorite girl," he said, his voice throaty and intimate at her back.

Snowman was a tall and brawny creep with a pool ball head and deep toffee skin. His moustache and beard looked penciled-in, while his fronts glittered with diamonds. Most days he wore an oversized white t-s.h.i.+rt with the hem near his knees and jeans he was forced to hike up. He was the sort of guy that a girl kept an eye on, unsure as to why, but certain it was needed.

"Steven," Deena said.

She could feel the eyes of Keisha on her back. Whenever Snowman was around, she clung to him like asphalt to earth.

Snowman inhaled. "d.a.m.n. You always smell so good."

Deena swallowed. Her skin begged to flee.. And she could smell his breath, too, beer and tobacco early on a Sunday afternoon. Either it or he made her stomach turn.

"Please. Move."

She closed her eyes, desperate to control the tremble in her voice. "Please," she repeated.

These were the times when she hated herself. When her body shook and fear kept her from doing what was right. Then, more than ever, she hated herself.

"You want me to beg for it. I know you do." He released a tremulous exhale, his voice a tease, and G.o.d help her, he touched her-fingertips at her arm.

"And you still a virgin, aint you? Yeah."

He trailed icy fingers along her elbow as though they were the only two in the room. "Tight like a virgin."

She had nothing but a flimsy aluminum grater in one hand, knuckles blanched from clenching, and a nub of cheese she'd shredded to nothing.

Finally, Keisha spoke.

"Snow?"

Nothing.

"Snow!"

"What?" he barked.

Deena kept her eyes on the sink. But before Keisha could answer, they were interrupted by the clamor of Hammond women returning from the store. Deena finally turned to face them-and Snow.

It was no surprise to her that Emma, Caroline and Rhonda were met by a wholly re-imagined Snowman, who greeted them with hugs while taking their bags. He called Caroline "mom" and Deena's grandmother, "grandma." The exchange with Rhonda was stiff but civil.

"'Lizabeth, there's a girl outside asking after you," Grandma said, still glowing from Snowman's affections.

Lizzie stood. "Did you catch her name?"

Emma shook her head and Lizzie dashed out.

Deena's grandmother turned on her. "Put these here groceries away. I need to get off my feet."

No sooner did Deena turn than did Keisha grab her wrist.

"You better learn your d.a.m.ned place when it comes to Snowman."

Deena stared back, wide-eyed, her grip tight on her arm.

"I don't want him," she hissed. "And you shouldn't either."

Keisha's gaze narrowed. "Stay away from him, Deena. Last warning."

"I will. You don't have to worry."

Keisha heaved Deena's arm aside leaving her to rub it absentmindedly.

"Worry? You're the only one who should be worrying. The last time a girl was here to see that s.l.u.tted sister of yours; it turned out to be a fifty-year-old man."

Deena stared, blinking her way to comprehension. When it came, she dashed out after Lizzie.

A cherry red Escalade with custom spinning wheels, a scantily clad teen in a scoop neck tee, and as Keisha had predicted, a paunch-bearing, middle-aged man, with a receding hairline, were there to greet Deena before Grandma Emma's house.

Lizzie leaned against the door of the Escalade and giggled as the black with a severe widow's peak ran a finger down the crease between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Deena stormed them, outrage without surprise, disgust without disbelief, fueling her every step. Down the walkway she tore, shouting her sister's name, and when she reached them, Deena s.n.a.t.c.hed for Lizzie mightily.

"What the h.e.l.l is going on? There was a girl out here! Grandma said there was a girl-"

"This is my friend," Lizzie said.

"Your friend?"

Deena wondered where in the h.e.l.l a fifteen-year-old girl met a dark and thickset old man with fish eyes, kinky facial hair and a pop-up belly. And better yet, what would make her call him "friend."

The man offered a corn yellow grin. "Normally I don't respond to shouting, but since you're so pretty, I'll do you a favor."

He extended a calloused hand. "The name's Larry Wils.h.i.+re."

Deena's gaze narrowed. "Are you aware that f.u.c.king a fifteen-year-old is illegal, Larry Wils.h.i.+re?"

"Baby girl, they ain't got a cell big enough to hold all the guys they'd round up behind this fifteen-year-old girl."

He laughed. And when he did, Lizzie joined him.

"I-I'll tell you what," Deena said. "How about I have the authorities give you a call? They can shove you in the cell first and see about fitting the rest later as far as I'm concerned."

"Woo woo, Deena's getting some nerves," Lizzie jeered, wrestling free of her grip.

Deena rounded the fat Escalade, dug out her phone, and punched in the tag number.

Larry joined her around back.

"Listen, why don't you take that phone, punch in my number, and make plans to go out with me."

His indifference was staggering. Unable to speak, Deena s.n.a.t.c.hed her sister a second time and dragged her indoors.

"What the h.e.l.l was that, Lizzie? What is he? 40? 50?"

Deena shoved Lizzie into her bedroom.

"Girl, stop trippin'. I aint tryin' to marry the dude. Just having a little fun."

The teen turned on her sister, arms folded. Once again that day, Deena gawked at the hot pink baby tee with its spill over cleavage and the tiny shorts she'd coupled with it. Pink Converse and hoop earrings rounded out the ensemble.

"Where in the h.e.l.l do you get these clothes anyway?"

"My friend bought them for me." Lizzie collapsed on her bed.

"Your friend, huh? And what does he tell you? That he loves you? That you're the only one for him?"

Peels of laughter erupted as Lizzie rolled onto her belly.

"Don't be such an idiot, Deena."

She dug into the miniature pocket of her shorts and retrieved a pack of Juicy Fruit. She unwrapped a piece and stuck it in her mouth, before tossing aside the packet. Lizzie plopped down on her bed.

"He told me that he's got money. And that's exactly what I want to hear."

Lizzie fluffed her pink pillow and stretched out on her back. Hands folded over her abdomen, she crossed her legs and bounced a foot midair.

"Money? Money for what?"

Lizzie shot her a look of impatience.

"Same thing you need it for. Stuff. I see you got Gucci and Prada. I'm a get mine, too."

"Gucci and Prada are my reward for hard work," Deena said. "d.a.m.ned hard work."

"Well, I work hard for mine, too." Lizzie said. "d.a.m.ned hard." She took a glimpse at Deena's face and laughed as if delighted.

"And how do you do that? Cause I don't see any job uniforms around here."

The teen grinned.

"Girl, I'm wearing it."

Deena's stomach pitched. The room was suddenly too tight and bright, with all of its hot pink and fuchsia, coral and salmon. How could a girl, a child with a h.e.l.lo Kitty throw on her bed and a mammoth collection of teenybopper posters, talk like this?

"I can't do this," Deena said. She threw up a hand. "I can't listen to this."

Lizzie stared at her.

"Look, it's not that big a deal. The way I figure it, you're gonna have s.e.x anyway. So, you might as well get something for it."

Deena blinked back fresh tears. "Yeah. You do. It's called love. And it's supposed to be reciprocal."

Lizzie shrugged. "Well what you call 'love', I call clothes, purses and shoes. I want what I want and I do what I gotta do to get it. So, deal with it."

CHAPTER TEN.

Weather in Miami rarely took dictation from a calendar, and this winter's day was no exception. The air was thick and the heat smothering as ocean waves crashed and receded in a natural spring sonata. Sun and moon worked to trade places in the sky as Tak and Deena walked, footprints trailing along wet sand, faint glimmers of day receding in a rush.

"G.o.d, you know what? I tell you everything," Deena said. "And I have no idea why."

Tak shrugged.

"Just one of those things. Like figuring out where we all came from, and what we're doing here."