Hi, Kittens. I know that I still need to write an epilogue to 'Leaving Scars,' but this new story has been taking all my creative energy. I'm calling it 'By Any Other Name' for the moment, but that may well change.
This work is set in Northern Kentucky/Cincinnati in 1985. At that time, the local news was inundated with daily reports on Cincy Reds player/manager Pete Rose trying to break Ty Cobb's hit record. So, I'm kicking off each chapter with a quote by or about Rose.
Let me know if you guys find it engaging or if it's a little too personal to be of any interest to anyone except me. One word of warning: this fic is not as thoroughly edited as 'LS' was, so I'm sure that typos and other offenses abound.
Oh yeah, Hudepohl is a really nasty beer from the Schoenling Brewing Corp of southern Ohio (or it was in 1985). 'Night of the Lepus' is a really crappy horror flick from the early 70s about giant killer rabbits (now available on dvd--I just bought it for my friend Paulie).
Rating: PG-13 for this part, maybe light R for gratuitous profanity.
Distribution: Mine, all mine.
Feedback: Please, oh please.
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“He is Cincinnati. He’s the Reds.” –Reds manager Sparky Anderson [speaking about Pete Rose]
I can’t remember a time I wasn’t in love with her. Sam sighed as she looked at the sleeping girl beside her in the twin bed. She was grateful that the girl was sleeping on her stomach. Just last weekend, Sam had awoken to find herself draped across the girl, her head pillowed on the petite brunette’s left breast. How am I going to wake up tomorrow? With my nose buried in her ass? She shuddered, titillated by the thought, and debated turning to face the wall. Just a few more minutes. Her eyes followed the gentle slope of her friend’s shoulder down to the sheet that covered her hips.
The night before had started out like every other Saturday night in 1985: they sat on the floor in Janie’s bedroom listening to Prince albums and drinking the beer Janie bought from her friend’s sister, Charlene, who worked at the gas station up the street.
“Charlene is so cool,” Sam said, popping the top on a Hudepohl. She tried not to notice that, although they’d only bought it an hour ago, the beer was already getting warm.
“She’s okay, I guess,” Janie shrugged. She took the can from Sam’s hands then took a long sip.
Sam grabbed the can and drank deeply. It’s almost like kissing her. “Well, she lets you buy beer and you’re not even 17. That’s pretty fuckin’ cool.”
“I guess,” Janie said. “I just wish Mom would let me drive.” She sighed. “I’ll never get a boyfriend if I can’t drive.”
“Um, yeah,” Sam mumbled. “Maybe I can borrow my mother’s car one night,” Sam offered.
“Like your mother would ever let you do that,” Janie said sarcastically.
“She might,” Sam replied. She blushed and looked to the floor, realizing that the next song on the album was ‘Computer Blue.’ She stole furtive glances at Janie, who was currently flipping through an old ‘Creem’ magazine.
“I don’t like this one,” Janie said, leaning across Sam to adjust the record player. Sam held her breath as Janie jumped the needle to the next song. Sam closed her eyes, savoring the distinctive opening riff of Prince’s ‘Darling Nikki.’ “I will never get tired of this song,” Janie said dreamily. Sam heard her friend stirring. She opened her eyes and was treated to Janie, still in her uniform from St. Xavier, performing a dance to the tune, slowly whipping her head from side to side. Janie had been complaining all night about the catechism class she had been forced to attend that morning, but still hadn’t removed her uniform. Sam stared, entranced, as Janie rolled her hips to the slow, rolling rhythm while mouthing the words to the song. She felt her mouth go dry when Janie grabbed the wooden bedpost with one hand and started grinding against it. Oh. My. God.
“God,” Janie said as she plopped on the floor next to Sam, seemingly oblivious to her friend’s condition. “That song just makes me…” she brushed Sam’s shoulder-length blonde hair aside and placed her mouth close to Sam’s ear. “Horny.”
When did the song end? Sam felt herself blush. “I…uh…” she struggled to regain the power of speech. “Me, too.” She was simultaneously relieved and disappointed as she felt Janie pull away from her.
“Remember my twelfth birthday party?” Janie asked, giggling.
“Of course I do,” Sam replied. I remember every minute we’ve spent together. “Emily Gainer puked on your Snoopy bedspread.”
“Ewwww!” Janie said as she playfully slapped Sam’s arm. “I wasn’t talkin’ about that. I meant the M&M thing.”
Sam frowned momentarily then broke into a grin. “You mean how you made your Mom buy all those bags of M&Ms so you could serve a big bowl of green ones?”
Janie collapsed backward, shaking with laughter. Her sprawling leg narrowly missed the beer can on the floor next to Sam. “Oh my God,” she said. “I can still see your face when Mom put that big bowl of green M&Ms right in front of you.” Janie laughed. “And you were tryin’ so hard not to laugh.”
“I’m pretty sure the M&M face paled in comparison to the face I made when Emily threw up,” Sam said, picking up the can and taking a long draw. “God, I couldn’t eat hot dogs for a fuckin’ year after that. Or read ‘Peanuts.’” She willed herself not to look at her friend’s bare leg. But it’s so perfect. She’s so perfect. “Um…speaking of hot dogs,” she started, trying to keep her voice even. “Is your Mom still gonna drop us off at Riverfront for the game next Saturday? Reds are playin’ the Giants.”
Janie pushed herself into a sitting position. “You are so obsessed,” she said as she snatched the beer from Sam. She took a drink then made a gagging noise. “Backwash,” she explained as she tossed the can under her bed.
Sam reached for another can. “I’m not obsessed,” she said. “They’re free tickets—it’d be stupid not to use them. And they’re playin’ the Giants and that’s always a good game. And Pete Rose will break Ty Cobb’s record this year.” Sam popped the top on the beer. “Besides, you never know—I could be dead next summer.”
“You will be if you let me drink your backwash again.”
Sam woke up on her side with her nose pressed against the wall. She recognized the familiar pressure of her friend’s leg draped across her thigh and an arm draped across her stomach. Sam bit her lip as she felt Janie’s warm breath on her neck. Jesus Christ. If you knew what you do to me. Sam shut her eyes and pretended she was asleep as she felt the smaller woman stirring. She frowned as she felt the arm and leg withdrawing. She turned to face Janie as the brunette launched into a full-body stretch.
“Mornin’,” Janie said around a yawn. “Sleep okay?” Sam nodded, trying to avert her gaze from the gap between the girl’s t-shirt and boxers. “Oh, shit,” Janie moaned, “I’ve got a hangover.”
Sam laughed. “I don’t know if we drank enough for a hangover,” she said. “I don’t have one.”
“Well, lucky you,” Janie said sarcastically.
They both looked to the door when they heard a light tapping on the other side. “Sam…Janie Rose…get ready for church,” Janie’s mother called in a singsong voice.
“No,” Janie moaned, rolling onto her belly and burying her head in the pillow.
“Can I just tell her I’m an atheist?” Sam said, pushing herself into a sitting position.
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Janie said. “She will freak, and I do mean freak, if you ever tell her that.” She turned to face Sam. “Seriously, Sammie,” Janie said, her voice cracking. “You’re the only one she even lets me hang out with anymore.”
Sam resisted the urge to cradle the girl in her arms, instead looking down at the blanket. “I won’t,” she said quietly. “I’d never…I, um, I wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want me to.”
Janie’s full lips crooked into a smile. “I know,” she said, her voice a whisper. She turned to look at the clock on her bedside table. “Ah, fuck,” she spat. “We’d better get ready.”
Two hurried showers and a bowl of cereal later, Sam found herself fidgeting against a wooden pew at St. Xavier’s. She glanced at her Swatch. Mom should be off work now. Her mother started working in January of that year as a nurse’s aide at St. Luke Hospital in Newport. As low man on the totem pole, she worked the night shift every Saturday. Sam had convinced her mother to drop her off at Janie’s house before her shift by arguing that she would be scared staying alone at their house in Falmouth. Sam and Janie had grown up next door to each other in Falmouth until Janie’s father died and her mother moved to Covington to be closer to work. June 7, 1984, Sam thought. The worst day of my life. The day Janie told me she was moving.
She stifled a yawn as she glanced at the short, balding priest standing at the front of the cavernous room. She looked around the church, her gaze settling on the stained glass window nearest the front of the room. A man in a flowing brown robe looked to the sky, holding a cross aloft, as brilliant rays of sunlight washed over his face. An angel floated in the upper left corner of the frame. Sam squinted, studying the angel’s all-too-familiar features. She glanced to her right at the now-napping Janie then turned back to the window. Like a photo negative.
Sam chuckled as she saw Janie’s mother poke the sleeping girl in the ribs. Janie yelped, causing the elderly woman sitting in the pew two rows ahead to turn towards them. Janie’s mother gave her daughter a disapproving look then turned her attention back to the priest. Sam, too, turned her head toward the priest as Janie turned to look at her. She felt her eyes grow heavy and her breathing slow as the priest’s gentle voice lulled her.
“What are you doing?” Sam asked as Janie straddled her lap in a single fluid motion. Sam looked around nervously. The elderly woman shook her head at the pair then turned to face the front of the church.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” Janie asked. She leaned into Sam, pressing her back into the hard wooden pew. Janie tucked Sam’s hair behind her ear then touched her lips to Sam’s ear. “I’m going to give you what you’ve always wanted.” Sam shivered as she felt the girl’s tongue twirl against her sensitive earlobe.
“Right here?” Sam asked, not really caring. “In front of Father Barton?”
“Sam?” Sam heard Janie’s voice accompanied by a gentle shaking of her shoulder. “Sammie? Are you okay?”
Sam opened her eyes to see concerned hazel eyes staring at her. “I…um…” She felt the blush burning her ears. “I guess I fell asleep for a minute,” she whispered.
“I guess so,” her friend said, smirking. “You were, like, groaning.”
Oh Christ. “I, um, I guess I’m not feeling so hot,” Sam said, looking down at the shiny wood of the pew.
Janie leaned close and whispered in her ear. “Who’s got the hangover now?”
Sam recognized her mother’s yellow Pontiac Lemans on the street in front of Janie’s house when they returned from church. “I, um, I guess I better go,” she said to Janie as they pulled into the driveway. Sam knew her mother would be too tired to attempt a conversation with Janie’s mother.
Janie reached across the back seat and hugged her. Sam buried her nose in the girl’s hair, inhaling deeply. “See ya next Saturday,” Janie said, releasing her friend. Sam gave her a weak smile then opened the car door.
Sam blinked against the harsh afternoon light then retrieved her overnight bag from the backseat and walked to the Pontiac. Her mother stared at the tidy row of houses across the street. Sam grimaced when she noticed she was smoking a cigarette with the windows rolled up. Sam opened the passenger door and was greeted by a wall of smoke. Coughing, she waved her hand back and forth rapidly. “Jesus Christ!” Sam sputtered. “Are you trying to kill me, Barb?”
“Nice fuckin’ language,” her mother said sarcastically. “I thought you just got back from church.” She crushed out her cigarette in the
ashtray. “And stop calling me Barb.”
“Yeah, well, church doesn’t have much of an effect on us atheists, Barb,” Sam mumbled. She rolled down the window before reluctantly climbing into the car. Her mother grumbled then slid the car into first gear and rolled away from the curb.
They drove wordlessly south on Route 27 towards Falmouth. As they passed the Tastee-Freez in Alexandria, her mother broke the silence. “Your grandmother’s getting worse.”
“How much worse can she get?” Sam asked. “She’s already bat shit crazy.”
Her mother ignored the comment. “I called her on my break this morning.” Sam sighed and looked out the passenger window. “Said she's got some God damned boyfriend livin’ with her.”
“Boyfriend?” Sam looked back to her mother. “She’s eighty-five.” She chuckled. “How old do you have to be before you stop talking about your ‘boyfriend’?”
“Laugh it up, smartass,” her mother said. “You’ll think it’s real funny when this asshole slits her throat and takes her Social Security check.”
Sam blanched. “You really think that’s what’s gonna happen?”
“What am I, God damned Kreskin?” her mother snapped. Sam set her jaw and stared straight ahead. Her mother sighed. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen. I’m just so God damned sick and tired of all this shit.” Her frown deepened. “And if there’s one thing I don’t need, it’s your grandmother acting like a God damned lovesick teenager.”
Sam resisted the urge to point out to her mother that her grandmother was, fact, Barb’s mother, instead turning toward the passenger window. She leaned back against the headrest and closed her eyes. She breathed deeply as the events of the morning washed over her. She pulled a few strands of her hair across her face, inhaling the lingering scent of Janie’s strawberry shampoo. We used the same shampoo. And the same soap. Sam smiled. And the same towel. Sam let her hair fall back in place. I wonder how long I can go without taking another bath?
“I think we should move in with your grandmother,” her mother said abruptly.
Sam snapped her head towards her mother. “Are you kidding me?” She felt like crying. “I’m gonna be a senior this year!”
Her mother grimaced. “You know, not every friggin’ thing in the world revolves around you.” Sam turned back to the window, fighting to hold back the tears she felt burning her eyes. “Maybe just for a little while,” her mother said. “Maybe just til…” she trailed off.
At least I’ll be closer to Janie. The thought almost made her not hate her mother.
“Can you believe she said that?” Sam picked at an errant thread poking out of the couch. “Move in with my grandmother,” she spat. “I swear she hates me.”
“She doesn’t hate you,” Mark said. Sam could tell he was only half-listening to her.
“All signs point to ‘yes’,” she said.
“Oh, so now you’re a Magic 8-Ball?”
“My life would be a lot better if I were a piece of plastic,” Sam said. She took a drink of her Mountain Dew and looked around the living room. The dark wood paneling made the already-cramped room even more claustrophobic. She sneered at Linda Lavin’s visage on the console TV. “Jesus Christ,” she said. “Did you know ‘Alice’ was still on?”
“I wish to God we could just get cable,” he said. “We had has cable when we lived in Fort Thomas and it’s only 30 miles from Falmouth.” Mark sighed. “God damned backwater town.”
“I fucking hate this place.” Sam said. “At least you had cable ‘til you moved here.”
“I guess so,” he said. “Doesn’t your grandmother have cable? She lives in Newport. I know they have it there.”
Sam laughed. “I don’t think she even owned a TV til, like, five years ago. And even then, she only got one because I was always bitching about her not having one.” She heard rustling in the background. “What are you doing?”
“Masturbating,” Mark replied in a flat tone.
“Please tell me you were thinking about anything but Linda Lavin.”
“I’m just kidding,” Mark laughed. “I’ve already masturbated four times today.” He paused. “Only twice to Linda Lavin.”
“Oh Christ,” Sam said, laughing. “I knew you were bored, but I had no idea it was that bad.” Sam rolled her eyes as the opening credits to ‘Trapper John’ scrolled across the screen. “What the Hell? ‘Trapper John’ is still on, too? That show’s been on since I was, like, twelve.” Sam took a drink of her Mountain Dew. “So, other than whacking off, what else did you do all weekend?”
Mark snorted dismissively. “What is there to do in this shithole town? I watched TV and worked on that paper for AP English.”
“Oops,” Sam said. “I, um, kind of forgot about that. When’s it due?”
“Friday,” Mark said. “So, I take it that you and Janie didn’t spend the weekend at the library?”
Sam blushed. “No, we just kind of hung out at her house and, you know, listened to some Prince.” And I nearly passed out when she did this dance to the dirtiest song ever. She bit her lip as the image of Janie grinding against the bedpost invaded her mind. “And then, um, church today.”
“Ugh,” Mark spat. “I don’t understand how you can force yourself to do that every week. I mean—I know you’re as big an atheist as I am.”
You have no idea what I’d do for her. “Yeah, I know. The, um, the priest is a pretty nice guy.”
“What are you doing tonight?” Mark asked, not so subtly notifying Sam that the topic of religion was closed.
“Well, I don’t know,” she said. “What are we doing tonight?” She looked toward her mother’s bedroom door. It was closed, the space under the door dark. “Barb’s zonked, so I can sneak out.”
Mark sighed. “Let’s see. 10:00PM on a Sunday night in Falmouth, Kentucky. I think they’re having bingo at the firehouse. Oh, wait…that was Saturday.” Sam chuckled. “So, that leaves either waiting for the ONLY traffic light in town to change to red or watching paint dry.”
“3 minutes and 45 seconds between reds,” she said. “Lasts 55 seconds.”
“It’s just so incredibly sad,” he said, laughing. “That we both know that.”
Sam laughed. “Well, I guess we could always drive by the NAPA and see who’s in the parking lot.” The Convenient store parking lot had been the teenage hotspot ever since the store was built in 1975. In the past two years, however, the store manager had taken to calling the police every time more than two cars congregated in the lot. Since that time, the parking lot next door, which happened to be in front of the NAPA auto parts store, had become the most favored teen hangout.
“There is no way in Hell I am ever going to NAPA,” Mark growled. “Not even for fucking floor mats.”
“Fine,” Sam said. “I guess I should work on that English paper, anyway.” She sat her empty Mountain Dew on the coffee table. “Pick me up tomorrow?”
“Don’t I always?” Mark said then hung up before Sam could think up a witty retort. Sam frowned at the TV then put her feet up on the table, accidentally knocking over her soda can. She bent down to retrieve the can and spied a box of pictures under the coffee table. She pulled out the box then removed the lid, only to be confronted by the sole photo from her parents’ wedding. A tall blonde man wearing a slightly-too-small suit stood next to a naïve-looking brunette in a silver dress. Barb, only you would wear a silver dress to your own wedding. Sam chuckled at the startled look on her father’s face then started sorting the remaining photos into piles by decade. She barely registered the droning of the Channel 9 evening news. She looked up briefly as an attractive blonde quizzed a Coca-Cola executive about the decision to introduce New Coke. “Glad I like Pepsi,” she mumbled then turned her attention back to the pictures.
Sam picked up a picture of her father in his paratrooper uniform. He was sitting in the doorway of a grounded helicopter. You were so young. She turned over the photo. The messy script she had come to recognize as her father’s announced the soldier as Private William McCall of the 101st Airborne, 2nd Battalion, 502nd Infantry, Bravo Company. She flipped the picture over once more, studying the face that stared blankly back at her. Her mother told her that her father was drafted in November of 1965. He was in basic training at Fort Dix then came home for 2 weeks in June of 1966 before being shipped to Vietnam in July. He was killed two months later in a firefight deep within the Mekong Delta. Sam sighed and placed the photo in the middle stack.
Sam halfway watched “Night of the Lepus” as she continued sorting the pictures, giggling each time the gigantic rabbits knocked over a model car. She found pictures of her paternal grandparents—her grandmother died of cancer in 1970 and her grandfather committed suicide in 1972. She had no memories of them, other than looking at their pictures. Sam recalled the recurring conversation she had with her mother about her father’s parents.
“Tell me about them,” Sam would always start the conversation with feigned innocence.
“I didn’t know them very well,” her mother replied, shrugging her shoulders.
“Well, you married their son.”
“True, but he didn’t really have much to do with them.” This was the point when her mother would become visibly uncomfortable with the topic.
“Why not?” Sam asked.
“I’ve told you this a thousand times,” her mother would snap. “They thought I was a Catholic.”
“But why would they think that?”
“Because your father let them think that.” This was the point when her mother would try to physically remove herself from the conversation, usually claiming that she had to go to the bathroom.
“But why would he?” Sam asked innocently. “When he knew that you’d always gone to Flour Creek Christian?”
“I don’t know,” her mother would sigh. “I really don’t.” And then she would leave.
Sam looked to the TV screen as she finished sorting. She sighed as the Indian signed the Lord’s Prayer, a flat voice intoning the words, marking the end of the broadcasting day for Channel Nine. I bet he’s not even a real Indian. She placed each stack separately into the box and replaced the lid. Sam grimaced as she furiously shook the box, destroying her evening’s work. She placed the box back under the coffee table then rose to turn off the TV. “Killer rabbits,” she mumbled to herself as she walked to her bedroom.
