Identical (30 page)

He stands, hands on his hips, looking

a lot like Wyatt Earp, facing down

bad guys at the OK Corral.

Guess what that makes me.

Better holster my six-shooter.

I’ll break out the shotgun later.

Tricks and treats are put

on hold in favor of tests

and ineffectual lectures.

Teachers can be so heartless.

At lunch, I’m still deciding

who to get witchy with. I’m

wandering, foodless, when

I hear someone call my name.

Ms. Gardella? One minute!

Would you please honor

me with your presence?

Lawler, sounding all teacher.

So why does a little chill

shimmy all up and down

my spine? I’ll honor him

with more than my presence.

I turn toward his classroom,

extremely happy that I shaved

my legs and wore a very,

very short skirt today.

Not only that, but he doesn’t

hide the fact that he’s noticing.

His eyes fall to the source of my

swishing stockings, stay there until

he closes the door behind me.

How’s the paper coming?

Hope I was able to help.

I turn and he’s very close

behind me. In fact, we’re just

about nose to nose. I smile my

most vampish smile. “You’ve

helped me more than you know.”

His turn to smile, revealing

perfect white teeth.
How so?

God, he smells good. I so

want to get lost in him. “You

treat me with respect. Not

many teachers do that for their

students. Power trips, I guess.”

You deserve my respect.

Not many students do.

I must be totally schizoid. As

much as I like having his respect,

I wonder what it would take to

earn his disrespect. My eyes tell

him that. My lips say, “Thank you.”

Welcome. So I was wondering

if you have plans for tonight.

Plans? Holy shit! Stay cool,

Raeanne. Leave the drool

where it belongs—inside your

mouth. But wait. Do I have

plans? Answer: “Not really.”

I realize it’s Halloween

and you might be busy….

“No!” Easy now. Don’t want

to look like you’re undateable

or something. “I mean I really

haven’t got anything definite

planned.” Breathe in. Breathe out.

I was hoping you might be able

to come over to my place and…

Okay, I know he doesn’t dare

say what I want him to, but

what he does say surprises me.

…answer my door for an hour

or so. I have an appointment

and don’t want to leave the house

empty with all the little tricksters

running around. I know it’s late

notice, an imposition, but you were

the first person who came to mind.

A deep breath brings several

positives to mind. One: I’ll

have my foot, quite literally,

in his door. Two: He probably

doesn’t have a girlfriend, unless

she happens to be his appointment.

Three: what might happen after

he gets back from his appointment.

Four: I was on his mind.

What can I do but agree?

To his house, which isn’t far

from mine.
Need a ride?

A ride would be nice,

considering it is chilly

outside, but I don’t think

I should chance it. Oh yeah,

just think about explaining

that one to dear old Dad.

I shake my head. “Maybe

a ride home. What time

do you want me?” I am

queen of double entendre.

Lawler shows his dimples.

My haircut is at six.

Can you get there around

quarter to? I should only

be gone a little over an hour,

so you won’t be tied up all night.

Okay, vamp, ramp it up.

“How about half the night?”

Crawls along even slower

than the first half did. Lawler

got my “tied up” joke and even

gifted me with an easygoing

laugh.

I’m pretty sure he’s got more

than an abbreviated house-sitting

job in mind. Wonder if he wants

what I do—to wrap ourselves up

in each other, make love until we

cry

with pleasure. Pain. Both. More.

But to go there, I need to catch

a buzz, which presents a problem.

It’s

one thing to ask Mick for bud,

then “reward” him after. But to

get my head, then ask him to drop

me at Lawler’s? He would not

appreciate that at

all.

Eek! Have I backed myself

into a corner? No Mick, no bud.

No Ty, no better buzz, and he’s

much more difficult to manipulate.

Dopeless sex? That could not feel

good.

Could it?

Is drawn to the petite blonde,

and so away from me. Yay.

I do have to go to work, but only

for a couple of hours, setting

up the codgers’ Halloween bash.

Did I just think “codgers”? Where

in hell did that word come

from? Some deep, dark, mean

recess of my brain? Some long-

forgotten conversation? Some

past-life dictionary? Sheesh. Just

think if I didn’t like those people!

Anyway, it will be easy enough

to get out the door, not that it isn’t

usually, but usually Daddy isn’t

even home yet. What’s so special

about today? Planning Mom’s

party? The simple chance to get

together with Hannah? Oops.

Answered my own question.

Slide down the hall in my stocking

feet, evoking a memory of Raeanne

and me when we were little, playing

champion ice-skaters. Wow. I don’t

go there often anymore. Most of my

childhood memories bloat with pain.

Laughter trickles from the kitchen,

the exact same way it used to,

except it is not Mom laughing with

Daddy. It’s her…what? Fill-in?

Replacement? Divorce would

probably be a better choice.

But considering the reputation

factor, divorce will never happen.

Ah. See? Happy memory dashed

against the rocks of reality. I can’t

deal with it in my normal way.

Daddy and Hannah have control

of the kitchen. No stuffing myself

until there’s no room left inside

for hurt. Aching from just behind

my eyes to the pit of my too-empty

belly, I go into my bedroom, sit

on the floor, pick open a scab or two.

This blood

thing. Fetish?

Fixation? Not

quite an

obsession

yet, but I

can see it

growing

into that.

Drip. Drip.

Steady. Slow.

Drip-drip.

Quicker yet.

Drip-drip-drip.

Drip-drip-drip.

Drip.

               Drip.

                              Drip.

Let myself drip, but I did promise

to show up at work and help out

with the Halloween decorations.

I’m rummaging through the medicine

cabinet for a couple of Band-Aids

when the telephone rings.

Will you get that, please?
calls

Daddy.
If it’s for me, tell them

I’ll call back in a few minutes.

The nearest phone is in the hall.

I rush to reach it before the fifth

ring feeds it to the machine. “Hello?”

No response, but a sharp rustle

on the far end, like someone

has dropped a stack of papers.

I wait, but no voice follows,

so I repeat, “Hello? Is anyone

there?” Still no answer.

Bad connection? Prank call?

Either way, I’ve got to go. “Sorry.

I’m late for work. Try back later.”