The Bad Lady (Novel) (3 page)

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Since Nancy was getting off work and supposedly had things to do, I told her to drop me off a few blocks away from where I lived, at my pal Andrew Keller’s house, on Cumberland Street.

The year before Andrew and me had the same fifth grade class. He had sat next to me, which made for an exceptionally entertaining time. Our teacher Miss Holland used to warn us constantly to stop goofing around, but we rarely listened. I think we drive Miss Holland nuts. On the bus, in terms of misbehaving, Andrew and I were no better. We liked to pester girls, usually the cute ones, by leaning over our seats and tugging on their pigtails, or mischievously tickling the backs of their neck, while laughing our butts off. In those days, without a doubt, Andrew Keller my best friend.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drop you off closer to your house?” Nancy asks, stopping underneath a shady maple tree. A flock of chirping sparrows took flight from the leafy branches, spooked by the truck.

“No. This is good,” I told her. I saw Andrew outside throwing a tennis ball against the garage door. This was a game he played where he would pretend that he pitched for the Cleveland Indians, and that he had to try to strike out the greatest homerun hitters in Major League baseball, particularly Mark McGwire, and Sammy Sosa. Andrew had some imagination; you’d be amazed. His other preferred thing to do was kick back, occupy his time with video games, which is what I hoped we would end up doing once we went inside.

“Okay Billy,” Nancy says, as I prepared to exit the vehicle. “I have the day off tomorrow so I’ll look for you the day after that.”

I climbed out.

“And remember,” she stipulated in a subtle yet strict voice, “don’t tell anyone what we did. We’re special friends, deeply special friends, and we’re the only people who need to know about how we had touched one another.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” I promised.

“That’s my boy.” Nancy smiled. Winked at me deviously as I commenced to walk away.

PART TWO

THE KELLER’S RESIDENCE

CHAPTER 2

Just then, I glanced over my shoulder and noticed my friend’s mom standing at the screen door. Nancy did not park in front of the Keller’s property, she had stopped the Good Humor truck near the neighbor’s mailbox.

All the homes along this street were middleclass. Some one-story, and some two, most were well maintained. Andrew’s residence was a one-floor ranch. The tan aluminum siding resembled real wood. A brick fireplace poked out of the black shingled roof.

As soon and Andrew and his mother became aware that I was the boy that had gotten out of the ice cream truck, they began to walk in my direction.

To my surprise, Nancy, rather than wait around to see if they wanted to buy a cold treat, sped away. In fact, she squealed the tires and disappeared around the corner before I had time to fine-tune my eyes.

“Hey Billy,” Andrew called to me. “What’s up dude?”

I stepped onto the Keller’s land. “Nothing much” I called back. “Just chillin.”

“Chillin in the ice cream truck?”

“Yeah.” Andrew and I always talked like that. Other kids thought we said words like ‘dude’ or ‘chillin’ to be cool. That wasn‘t true. We just picked up that lingo from wherever. “Me and Nancy drove all over town.”

“You did?”

“Uh huh.”

“Wanna play wiffle ball?” Andrew asked.

I shrugged. “If you want.”

“Or we can go inside and use my Play Station? It‘s up to you.”

“Play Station,” I said, grinning. “I’d definitely rather play video games.” Andrew knew I did not get into wiffle ball. At least not much. In terms of outdoor sports, I preferred football and street hockey. Besides, why would I want to stay outside? The last time I had been to the Keller’s residence, a couple of days before, I had left a book bag full of video games. Some were new and I had yet to have had a chance to check them all out. I was eager to get started.

Mrs. Keller, who had her hands placed securely on her hips, watched her blond-haired son and me amble up the two-car driveway. Although Andrew and I were roughly the same height, he had more baby fat and had a double chin. Yeah, okay, I’ll admit it; my friend was a tub of lard.

“Billy,” Mrs. Keller says. “Does you mother know where you are?”

“Yes,” I lied.

“Are you sure?”

“Yup. I’m positive.”

As usual, I knew that would be one of the first questions out of Mrs. Keller’s mouth. If Andrew and I were not friends, my mother and Mrs. Keller would have gone their separate ways. They only ever spoke on the phone, or from their cars. And even then, the conversations were brief, they never smiled or anything like that. They just wanted to get away from one another as fast as possible.

“So you’re telling me your mother knows you’re here right now, at this very moment, to see my son Andrew?”

“Yes. I swear to God she knows I‘m here.” I probably sounded a little upset. “She said I could come over.”

“Okay.”

“Why?”

“Just checking.” Mrs. Keller measured my eyes long and hard. She had light carrot-blonde hair brushed to the side. It cascaded down to her shoulders. The hair wasn’t straight though, where it reached her shoulders; it flipped up. I think Mrs. Keller used a curling iron to get her hair to do that, because the sudden curl, in my estimation, did not appear to be natural.

“Where are you coming from?” she asked. She wore a pearl necklace, a red summer dress, and white heels. When she walked, Mrs. Keller’s pumps echoed rhythmically against the concrete pavement.

“I was with my friend Nancy,” I answered. “And guess what?” Andrew and I now stood on the wooden porch, preparing to enter the house.

“What?”

“Today Nancy let me sit on her lap and drive the Good Humor truck.” I said this more to Andrew, to brag.

Based on Mrs. Keller’s reaction, I suddenly understood, or thought I did, why Nancy had warned me to keep what we had done hushed. Mrs. Keller had a shocked expression on her face, as if I had just announced that me and Nancy Sutcliffe had robbed a bank.

Just then, on the next block over, we heard the carnival-like jingle of the Good Humor truck.

“She let you drive?” Andrew said, bowled over.

“Yup.”

“Neat. You‘re becoming a regular big shot dude.”

“Andrew,” Mrs. Keller interrupted, “his name is Billy, not dude. You know I don‘t like that kind of talk. Use proper English.”

“Sorry mom. That’s what I meant.”

Mrs. Keller gazed up at the tall treetops, toward the next block over, where we could still hear the ice cream truck‘s tuneful chime. “Billy, why on earth did your friend leave so abruptly?”

“Huh?” I wasn’t sure I had heard her correctly.

“Your friend the Good Humor lady, Nancy Sutcliffe, she left like a bat out of hell.”

“Oh. I don’t know why she peeled out like that,” I confessed. I really didn’t either. It was a mystery. I decided the next time I saw Nancy I would have to ask her about that.

Apparently, my explanation did not provide Mrs. Keller, whose first name was Stacie, with the information she expected. I say that because after I had said that I did not know why Nancy had peeled out, she scowled and then would not make eye contact with either Andrew or me as we stepped inside.

Behind us, Mrs. Keller allowed the flimsy screen door to bang shut, explosively loud. WHAAAAP!

CHAPTER 3

After removing our sneakers, (Andrew’s stunk), we went into the parlor where he had his Play Station set up. The room was comfortable with many sweet-smelling flowers in decorative vases and, on the walls, big framed photographs of landscapes scenes, which I thought provided the setting with a lot of fascinating style. As did the nice caramel-brown furniture, which I think might have been genuine leather, a humungous couch and a couple of reclining chairs.

Andrew and me parked ourselves, Indian-style, on the white carpet. The Keller’s plump Siamese cat Olivia lay nearby, sleeping. When I petted the furry feline respectfully on the head, she instantly woke up, purring.

“Throw Olivia that twine of kite string,” Andrew suggested, as he used the remote control to turn on the wide-screen Panasonic TV.

“Why?”

“What do you mean why? So she’ll leave us alone. If you don’t give that zany cat something to do, she’ll keep pestering us.”

“All right.” I got the tiny spool of kite string, which had been in front of the couch, underneath the table where the family put their drinks. Then I rolled the kite string across the floor toward the cat. Andrew was right. Olivia pawed friskily at the twine. Began to ignore us.

Suddenly, from the nearby kitchen, Mrs. Keller called out to us, “Would you boys like a glass of milk?”

Andrew turned toward me. “Do you want one?”

“No,” I whispered. “I‘m not thirsty.”

“No thanks mom.”

“Andrew, if you’re gonna play video games,” Mrs. Keller hollered in her niggling parental voice, “don’t sit so close to the TV. Stay at least six feet away. I don’t want you to ruin your eyes.”

Andrew slid back on the carpet, as did I.

Mrs. Keller always ordered her son around, do this, do that. I swear, she bugged me big-time. Honestly, that’s why I liked Nancy; she was one of the few grownups that I had ever come across who wasn’t a complete nag. Even my teachers, guidance counselors, and principal, at school up until that point, had been a pain in the neck, constantly filling your head with their irritating rules.

Jeez!

Anyway, for possibly an hour Andrew and I sat there enjoying Play Station, going from one video game to another.

Then, that’s when the doorbell rang, followed by a quick Rap! Rap! Rap!

Mrs. Keller rushed from one of the small bedrooms, where she had been busy vacuuming, and answered it.

At the door, was Mrs. Bailey, the Keller’s neighbor. I did not know much about her. She had bouncy russet hair, a very feminine voice, and a Jessica Rabbit body. Men probably went nuts over Mrs. Bailey, thought she was the bomb. However, she turned me off because she acted high and mighty, as if her poop didn’t stink.

“Hello Stacie,” Mrs. Bailey announced in her high-pitched, conceited voice.

“Hi Barb.”

“Whatcha doing?”

“Nothing really. Just cleaning the house. Come on in.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

When the screen door opened a mammoth splash of sunlight lit up half of the living room. Startled, Andrew and I glanced up from our previously dark video world. I was surprised that Mrs. Keller didn’t make us turn the volume down; the loud space age sound effects were ricocheting off the walls, as if we were in an action-packed arcade.

“Hi Andrew,” Mrs. Bailey said, looking down at us perched, like two puppies, on the carpet.

“Hello Mrs. Bailey.”

“Hi,” I said, nodding.

Mrs. Bailey nodded back at me, to acknowledge my presence. Yet, she did not utter hello, even though she knew my name. I guess, me being a youngster, and not related to the Keller’s, I wasn’t worthy of a polite verbal greeting.

The last time I saw Mrs. Bailey she did not say much to me then either. In fact, she had conducted her behavior the same way she did now, turned her back, stuck her nose straight up into the air, and then walked away like one of those people that doesn’t want to be bothered having to make small talk with someone else’s kid.

“Andrew,” Mrs. Keller spoke, “before you get too involved in Play Station, I want you to go outside and get your tennis ball and wiffle ball bat out of the driveway.”

“Oh mom, can’t I do it later?”

“No. I want you to put that stuff in the garage right now!”

“Oh. All right.” Reluctantly, Andrew stood up, lowered the sound on the TV, and then went back outside to clean up his toys.

Meanwhile, it did not take long before I overheard Mrs. Keller, in the kitchen; say to the neighbor, that my mom was cuckoo. Just about every time I came over here, it seemed that Mrs. Keller had to put my mother down. It was like one of her hobbies. After she had advanced the comment that, in her opinion, my mom was a nutcase, she and Mrs. Bailey chuckled heartily. Funny thing, while they cracked up, reveled in the mockery, I secretly wept. I did not like it when people poked fun at my mother. It made me extremely upset.

“Miss Hall,” Mrs. Keller kept at it, as if my mother was there in the room with them, “the local insane asylum has plenty of vacancies. There’s a straightjacket at Bellevue and a warm bed waiting for you. Ha! Ha! Ha!”

“No wonder her husband left her,” Mrs. Bailey stated snobbishly. “Who would stay with a whack job like her?”

“No respectable gentleman that I know.” I heard Mrs. Keller put something into the oven. The steel rack rattled noisily. “I’ve always felt nothing but pity for young Billy Hall‘s mother.”

“You’re not the only one. What a basket case.”

How could these adults be so cruel? I wondered. If you want to know the truth, Mrs. Keller and Mrs. Bailey did not seem to care one iota that I was in the other room, within easy listening range. I guess they assumed because I was a kid that I did not understand what they were talking about. They could not have been more mistaken. Those jerks. I understood everything they said. Whenever grownups put my mom down it made it feel as if there was something wrong with me. And that hurt. That hurt a lot.

“So who is that kid Billy Hall’s mother dating now?” Mrs. Bailey asked.

“Some redneck.”

“Is he really a banjo-playing hick?”

“Oh. I don’t think so,” answered Mrs. Keller. “I’m kidding. The guy she’s dating just looks like a redneck. He has greasy hair, has a Billy Ray Cyrus mullet as if he’s still living in the eighties, and he has really bad teeth. They’re all chipped and yellow. Barf! You should see this guy, Barb. He’s as ugly as a pig. I would never sleep with him.”

The laughter increased.

“And how long has that boy Billy’s mom been with this man?”

“A few months, I think.”