Peggy Holloway - Judith McCain 01 - Blood on White Wicker (9 page)

I got off the streetcar on Canal Street where it turned around and walked to the corner and got on a bus heading towards Metairie. I took a transfer in Metairie and ended up over in the Lake Pontchartrain area.

This is where the houses are like mansions and they’re right on the lake. There are little park areas along there and I sat on one of the benches to rest and decide what to do next. I had enough money for a motel, but would anyone rent me a room?

I had seen enough movies to know that if you got a room in a more run down area and paid cash, they wouldn’t ask any questions. So where would I find one of those? Then I thought of the Airport.

I hiked back down to Airline Blvd. and got on another bus to the airport. The New Orleans airport is actually in Kenner, and is a rough neighborhood, nothing like the nice neighborhood where Dave’s house was. I was a little nervous about getting a room there.

As it turned out, I didn’t have to, because, when I got off the bus, I noticed an old Chevrolet Impala with the keys in the ignition. It was parked in the parking lot of the drug store where I got off the bus. I looked around, but saw no one. The car was parked far away from the store.

I got in and started it up. My heart was going a hundred miles an hour. Then I saw a man come out of the store like he was in a big hurry. He came towards the Impala and I thought I would die. But he walked on by and headed for a new Pontiac Bonneville, parked near all the other cars, and took off.

I had never driven before but thought I could do it. I put the car in R for reverse and slowly eased the car out of the parking lot.

I stayed off the main roads and ended up parking in the parking lot of an apartment complex on a street called Houma. I was sleeping like a log in the backseat when someone started banging on the windshield and shining a bright light in my eyes.

“Would you step out of the car, please?”

I jumped up and opened the door when I saw the police uniform.

“Is this your car?” the policeman said.

I didn’t answer and knew I was in trouble again.

Once again, I heard the words, “You have the right to remain silent…” and I was taken to a different police station.

I was locked up in Juvenile Hall and spent three days there. I saw a Judge Renfro in his chambers who asked a lot of questions and gave me a long lecture. I was again picked up by another social worker and taken to another shelter. The judge had ordered community service and I had to do yard work around the court house.

 
It wasn’t so bad really. I sort of enjoyed it, in a way. I was taken there every morning by my case worker and picked up late in the afternoon. I did this until the end of summer and then I was placed into another foster home.

That was the best foster home I had been in so far, or so I thought at the time. The house was on Lake Pontchartrain. I was to stay with this older couple named Lessiter and I was the only foster kid they had, so I thought it was like being an only child. I didn’t have to share my room and had my own bath again. But I would have to go to school. The judge had been very firm on that.

By now, it was September and I was thinking that Julia, the artist who looked like me, would be back home and maybe in New Orleans. I knew that Jean wouldn’t be able to get back in touch with me, so I needed to get down to Royal Street.

Mrs. Lessiter seemed to be a little addled brained and didn’t seem to know what was going on most of the time. But Mr. Lessiter was very kind to me and I, at first, pretended he was my grand daddy.

I asked him one day if he would take me to Royal Street. He didn’t want to take me and I ended up crying with my head on his shoulder and telling him everything. He then agreed to take me. I think it was the tears that did it and I made a note of that to myself.

When Saturday came around, Mr. Lessiter took me to see Jean. When Jean saw me he said, “My God, Vicky, I’ve been trying to call you but I keep getting the same message that this is a non working number.”

 
I introduced Mr. Lessiter and explained a little about what was going on. No details, just that Dave was out of town and I was now living with the Lessiters.

“Can you try to call Julia now?” I asked.

I watched as he picked up the phone and dialed.

“Hey darling, guess who I have in my shop with me right now? You will? Oh okay.”

He handed the phone to me. “She will be here next Saturday, but she wants to speak to you.”

Her voice was the sweetest one I had ever heard. Tears were rolling down my cheeks. She asked me a lot of questions and I was just shaking my head and then realized she couldn’t see me so I started answering.

She asked me if we really looked alike, “We could be the same person,” I said.

She asked when my birthday was and when I told her she told me it was the same as hers.

“Were you adopted?” I asked her.

“No,” she replied. “If I were, my parents would have told me. Just one last question, are you artistic too?”

I told her that not as far as I knew. I wanted so badly to ask her about the dream, because by now I knew she had to be my twin sister no matter what her parents had told her. I decided to save that until I saw her on Saturday. I knew it would be a long week, but I didn’t know that my life would take another major turn before then.

That night, after dinner, I was sitting on my bed studying when there was a soft knock on the door. Mr. Lessiter stuck his head in.

“Mrs. Lessiter has gone to bed early tonight. She’s having one of her headaches. Can I come in?”

I was wearing my pajamas and was sitting cross-legged on the bed. I got up and put my books on the desk. When I turned back around, he had made himself comfortable on my bed. He was sitting with his legs outstretched and his shoulders propped up on one of my pillows against the headboard.

He patted the bed and said, “Come sit over here by me and let me hold you.”

I felt alarm bells go off inside my head, but told myself that he was like a grandfather. So I jumped on the bed and snuggled against him. He smelled like tobacco and peppermint.

 
“Oh God, You feel so good,” he said.

Again there were alarms going off in my brain but I kept talking myself out of it. He was only holding me.

“Did you enjoy going to Royal Street today? You excited about meeting the other girl? Aren’t you grateful I took you there?” He was rubbing his hand up and down my arm and breathing so hard, I thought he was having some kind of seizure.

Then what he said next took away all doubts I had about his intent. “Oh God, I need you so much darling. I know you learned how to please men when you were with Dave. Please have mercy on me. It’s been so long for me.”

I jumped off the bed, “Get out of my room, you old fart. Is this why you took me in, to have sex with me? I can’t believe I fell for that grandfather act. You should be ashamed of yourself, thinking I would be so grateful to you, that I would let you fuck me!”

Now he had gotten off the bed too and was shaking so hard I thought he was having a stroke or something. I was ranting and raving and pacing the room. I was so tired of everyone thinking they could take advantage of me. The whole time I was screaming, Mr. Lessiter was saying “sh, sh.” and had his finger to his lips in a “sh” sign, and his hands were shaking so hard that his finger was actually hitting his lips.

“Please, Vicky. I’m afraid you’re going to wake up Mrs. Lessiter.”

“I ought to wake her up,” I said, “Does she know what a disgusting old man you are? What I should do is call the police. If you come in my room again I will, I promise.”

“Please don’t tell anyone about this, Vicky. I’ll help you with anything I can. I’ll even hire a detective and find out about the necklace.” He was backing up toward the door as he said all this.

When he left, I locked the door and threw myself on the bed and cried. Why couldn’t I have a daddy? Why did men always have a hidden motive to be nice to me? I cried myself to sleep. That night, I had the dream again, but this time it went farther:

The unicorn necklace are on the floor. I looked up and see two men going out the window. Each has a little girl under his arm. They are trying to get down a ladder while keeping their hand over the little girls’ mouths, and hold on to them, because they are squirming. The camera lens swings over to the right. I see the woman that looked like me, but older, lying in a pool of blood.

###

I woke up screaming to the top of my lungs. Mr. Lessiter was banging on my door, but I was still half in my dream and I thought someone was banging on the door to the room in the dream. When I was finally fully awake, I unlocked the door and threw myself into his arms. I know that sounds crazy after what happened earlier, but I couldn’t stop myself. As I started calming down, I realized he was talking, “…and you’re right I am just a disgusting old man, but I promise you won’t have to be afraid of me or have nightmares about me anymore.”

I realized that he thought I was having nightmares about him. I didn’t correct him because I thought it was better this way, and that I would let him think that. He held me awhile, and then tucked me in.

As I was dosing off I thought, “It’s nice to finally have a daddy.” I really thought he was sincere. Little did I know what a monster he would turn out to be.

The next day, I basked in my false sense of security. When I went down to breakfast, he was so polite.

“How are you this morning, Vicky?”

When I came home from school, “How was school today, Vicky?” And when I rose to go to bed that night, it was “Sleep well, honey” and a kiss on the forehead.

I did notice one thing though. Mrs. Lessiter seemed to be watching me with suspicion.

Just as I was dozing off, I felt him get under the covers with me. I gasped and he laughed, “What did you think, that I was going to give up? Did you think that fake nightmare was going to fool me?”

He rolled half on top of me and held both my shoulders down.

“Aren’t you going to scream? He said. “I like it when they scream, and frankly, I don’t think I would have gotten much satisfaction last night trying to go gently with you. It’s just not me. By the way, this room is sound proof. I had it built that way for my needs. You see, Vicky I know who I am and I’m okay with it.

“Whereas, you think you’re this innocent little girl and not the whore that you are. If you would just accept that, we could enjoy each other. I gave Mrs. Lessiter a triple dose of her sleeping meds tonight so she’ll sleep like the dead.

“I’m going to take off your pajamas now Vicky, I really want you to pretend to fight me. I’m sure you’ve had experience with rough sex, haven’t you?”

As soon as he said that, I knew what I had to do. So when he released me and started unbuttoning my pajama top, I just lay there staring him in the eye.

“Fight me, damn it, if I wanted to fuck a corpse, I’d be in there fucking my wife.”

When I didn’t move, but defiantly stared at him, he ripped open my pajama top. The buttons went flying.

He suddenly leaned back on his heels and laughed. “You wear a bra to bed? Maybe you are more naïve than I figured and this will be better than I thought.”

He pulled me up against his chest and undid my bra. He then threw me back down and grabbed the front of my bra and threw it on the floor. His eyes were glassy and he was leering.

“I promise you, Vicky, you will fight me.”

He put his head down and bit my nipple. No one had ever done that to me. Even when my foster dad raped me, he just climbed on top and it was over in minutes.

I knew now that this could last all night unless I did fight him. I started screaming and pulling his hair trying to get his teeth out of my nipple.