Deliver Me From Evil. Mary Monroe

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СКАЧАТЬ They think acting is sissified,” Wade said, with an angry tone in his voice. “Same as hairdressing and ballet dancing. They think any dude that do shit like that gots to be a fag.”

      “Do these same kids go to the movies?” I asked, sipping from the can of Pepsi, which I didn’t care that much for, either. This one had an odd taste. I glanced at the side of the can, not surprised to see that the soda was diet. I drank some more, anyway, because it helped rinse the taste of Wade’s juices and that half-cooked popcorn out of my mouth.

      “You know they do,” Wade said, rising up enough so that he could look at my face. The expression on his face told me that he was wondering where I was going with my end of this conversation. “What’s your point?”

      “Well, Al Pacino and all the rest of those big stars had to start somewhere. I bet the kids in their neighborhoods didn’t make fun of them when they first started talking about going to Hollywood. And, what about those real mucho macho stars, like Sylvester Stallone and Clint Eastwood? Nobody in their right mind would call them sissies.”

      Wade gave me a thoughtful look. “Shit,” he said in a low voice. He smiled and blinked twice, looking at me like I had just revealed the secrets of the universe. “Girl, I never even thought about things like that. Them big stars did have to start somewhere. They had to tell their relatives and friends what they wanted to do. You don’t think I’m talking crazy?”

      “No, I don’t think you are talking crazy. I think it’s cute that you want to be a big star,” I said, caressing Wade’s face. That was not what he wanted to hear.

      “Fuck you, bitch!” he screamed through clenched teeth.

      “What?” I managed. My mouth dropped open and stayed that way as I watched Wade’s face turn into one of the most frightening things I ever saw. His gray eyes looked black and evil. Both of his cheeks twitched, and for a minute, his nose looked like it was going to wiggle right off his face.

      “What’s wrong with you, girl?” he roared, pushing my hand away.

      “What did I say?” I gasped, surprised and frightened.

      “Cute? You think what I want to do with my life is cute? Winnie the Pooh is cute. A poodle in a dress is what you call cute! I ain’t going down to Hollywood to do no Disney movies or Sesame Street or nothing like that. I want to be taken serious. You understand?”

      “I understand,” I muttered. I was glad when Wade laid his head back down. “Uh, do you want me to go now?”

      He rubbed his chin, sighed, and shook his head. “Naw,” he said, waving his hand. “You can stay, but just watch what you say to me from now on. Do you hear me?”

      “I hear you,” I muttered, my head bowed like a puppy.

      Wade cleared his throat. “You know what? I do kinda like you, Christine. You are cute—uh, not cute—you are a real fly girl. Turn over here so I can lick your pussy.”

      “Huh?”

      “This old, funky college girl that I hang with, she told me that most women like getting licked better than they like getting fucked. She showed me how to do it real good.”

      “What about the blood down there on me?”

      Wade let out a sharp laugh and made a face like he was in pain again.

      “Damn! I forgot about that,” he hollered, slapping the side of his face with the palm of his hand. “Well, I’ll do it some other time when you ain’t bleeding. But guess what? I wouldn’t mind having my dick sucked again before you go home.”

      “What you got to be smiling about?” Mama asked, bringing me back to the present.

      “Nothing,” I mumbled, my eyes on the floor.

      I could not imagine what my parents, especially my mother, would say if they knew what I’d done with Wade. As a family, we rarely talked among ourselves, anyway, about anything. I never knew what they were thinking and vice versa. Sometimes it seemed like I lived with mute strangers. Sex was a subject that was never discussed in our house. As a matter of fact, the closest that my mother ever came to discussing sex in my presence was to tell me about all of the difficulties she’d endured to bring me into the world, always including the fact that she’d had such a hard life that she’d never wanted a child in the first place. She always made the forty-eight hours of labor, loss of blood, and extreme pain sound like it was something that I had caused on purpose. And, each time I ended up apologizing to her for being born. It was one thing to know that I’d been a “mistake.” But that didn’t stop me from making enough mistakes of my own along the way. I had no way of knowing it at the time, but Wade would turn out to be the biggest mistake I’d ever make in my life.

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