Girl In The Mirror. Mary Monroe Alice

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      “See? I was right. Told you it’d warm the blood.” He smiled, refilling the cap. “Get your juices flowing.”

      Charlotte braved another smile and swallowed more, closing her eyes. She did rather like it. It tasted of fermented plums mixed with fire and something magical that tickled her nose and tingled her tum. When she opened her eyes, Lou was still smiling at her. She searched his crooked features with a forgiving eye, seeking signs of integrity and goodness, qualities she may have overlooked before. No, he wasn’t a handsome man, not even a good looking one. But she never expected the attention of a handsome man. If his heart was kind, wasn’t that enough?

      “Aren’t you getting warm in here now? Why don’t you take off that heavy coat? We’re having a little party here.”

      “No,” she blurted. “No, I’m still cold.”

      “Let me warm you up.” Lou swooped down to press his mouth against hers.

      The sudden move took Charlotte by such surprise that she was frozen in shock. Then it dawned on her. My God, she was actually being kissed! For years, she’d only imagined the poetic experience of flesh on flesh. And now it was happening to her. She’d begun to believe it never would. She ought to discourage him, push him away, but what harm was there in one kiss?

      In the cool, blanketing anonymity of night, the spinster analyzed the sensations with studied detachment. His lips felt dry and chapped and tasted of brandy. Yet it wasn’t so bad, she decided. As she relaxed more she felt a queer sensation, a tingling, that spread through her bloodstream like the brandy had. It left a fiery sensation in her belly, then, yes, lower in that secret place. Charlotte felt wicked and thrilled that she was experiencing a kiss, a real kiss—at last.

      “There now,” he murmured with satisfaction, slipping the coat off her shoulders and shifting his body so that he was leaning over her. He smiled at her sweetly. She half smiled in return. “You should wear clothes like this more often,” he said, his voice rich with praise. “Shows you off. Shows these off.”

      His gaze traveled from her shoulders down to her chest. He encircled her breasts with his hands, weighing their fullness over the stretch of red wool. He sighed lustily.

      “Oh, you’re big. And it’s all you, too. We weren’t sure they were real.”

      He lowered his mouth to hers again, and she soon discovered how he got the name Fast Hands. Charlotte was awash in new sensations and asked herself again and again if she should stop. But surely this was all harmless. She’d heard the girls in the office talk about this sort of thing all the time. Why shouldn’t she experience this, too?

      Suddenly, Lou lifted himself back with a jolt, unbuckling his belt. As the cold air settled between them, she saw him fumble with his zipper. Charlotte realized in a snap that they’d gone too far. She didn’t want anything that had to do with unzipping trousers.

      “I think we should stop now,” she said firmly, pushing up on her elbows.

      “No…no, not yet. We haven’t even started having fun yet.” The zipper hummed loudly in the darkness.

      “I said that’s enough.” Her voice was as crisp and cold as the night.

      “Whoa, baby. Not so fast. You’re a wild one, aren’t you? I’m ready for you, though. Oh, yeah. I’m gonna give you a real nice Christmas present.”

      She wrestled her hand away from his grasp with a cry of alarm. Where was the spark of kindness that she thought she’d detected? How could she have been duped into trusting him against her better judgment. Fear replaced pleasure in a sudden rash move. She fought against him, but he wrestled her legs wide, maneuvering one up onto the seat while the other dangled uselessly to the floor. When his hand moved to slide under the waistband of her panty hose, Charlotte screamed but he cut it off with his palm.

      “I’ll bet I’m the first one, right?” When he saw her eyes widen in horror, he laughed. “Thought so. Didn’t think a whole lot of guys would be lining up. You got a great body, kid, but I swear, I oughta put a bag on your head.”

      Tears instantly flooded Charlotte’s eyes as she felt a despair deeper and more raw than any caused by a physical blow. She bit his palm, digging into soft flesh, then threw her head back and screamed as loud as she could. “No!”

      He hit her then, hard, stunning her.

      “Shut up,” he said in an angry growl. “You’d better play along or you’ll lose your job. Besides, you’re so ugly, you should pay me for it.”

      Lying there, feeling the tug of fabric roll down her hips, buttocks, then thighs, Charlotte flashed back to the time long ago, in kindergarten, when she’d felt the same brutal pulling down of her pants. Now it was happening again, she realized with unspeakable shame. She was lying here, on this smelly car seat in this dirty garage, letting Lou Kopp do it to her all over again.

      Something snapped in Charlotte. All the anger and shame that she’d felt lying on the dirt behind the bleachers came back to her in a rush. Fifteen years of remembering that incident, wishing she’d fought harder, screamed louder. Years of anguish from cruel jeers and taunts from boys while she just sat back and took it all, came rushing to her. Suddenly, in a brilliant flash that lit up her dim dismay, Charlotte remembered the promise she had made herself back behind the bleachers.

      Consumed with fury, indignation and resolve, she was strong. Charlotte bunched her hand into a fist. “N-o-o-o!” she screamed, and swung up to meet his jaw with a resounding crack.

      Lou cried out, falling back, slapping his palm against his jaw. Seizing the moment, Charlotte raised her right leg and with righteous power kicked like a horse, making direct contact with what he’d been so proud of moments before. Lou howled in pain and doubled up.

      Not wasting a second, Charlotte yanked open the door with her hand. Pushing hard away, she fell back out of the car, losing her shoes and landing in a heap on the hard, cold pavement. Scrambling to her feet, she yanked up her pants, grabbed her purse and ran, shoeless, toward the stairs. She allowed herself only one quick backward glance at Lou Kopp. He was still moaning and cursing, hunched over in the front seat. A wounded wolf howling at the moon.

      Vindication surged through her veins as she raced to the door. She’d fought back! No more cowering. No more whimpering. Never again would she allow someone to take advantage of her. She was through feeling sorry for herself.

      Running out of the garage to the sidewalk, Charlotte gulped the air. The icy cold burned her chest, cleansing her. It awoke her to the stars that flickered in the sky overhead. Standing in her stocking feet, with her coat and purse dangling at her side, she lifted her face to them.

      “I matter,” she called out to the stars. Then farther into the heavens, she called out to God. “I do not accept this fate you’ve given me. I swear by all that is holy that I will find a way to change it. And if you have any mercy at all for me, your lowliest of creations, you will not stop me.” She took a deep, trembling breath, afraid of the new feelings that rumbled inside her breast, demanding to be heard.

      “And if you do try to stop me,” she cried, shaking her fist in the sky, “I will defy you!”

      Three

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