Mourning Glory Page 4
"You know how old she is?" Grace sneered.
"I don't ask for no birth certificates."
"She's sixteen," Grace blurted, shocked by his sudden hateful references.
"Nothin' tighter than that, Mama."
"You could be in big trouble," Grace said.
The young man moved closer to Grace. His nose was almost touching hers.
"Come on, Mama," the young man said. "Cool out. You wouldn't want to make no trouble, would you, Mama? Not for your hot little baby there." He tucked her under the chin.
"No," Grace conceded. "I don't need more trouble."
"Smart Mama."
The young man winked.
"Maybe if you're a good little Mama, I give you a ride on my hog. Got a bitch pad with a golf ball. Wrap your legs around that, Mama, and you'll know what high is."
The young man turned and walked to the window, opening the blinds.
"See that beauty, Mama?" He pointed to a black Harley-Davidson motorcycle, glistening brightly in the sun. His eyes, she noted, were glazed with pride and admiration, as if it were a religious icon. He moved closer to Grace again and whispered, "Ain't that somethin', Mama? Better than pussy. Rigid frame Evo with a kicker, look at them pulled back buckhorns, two hot cylinders, thirteen-forty CC. Go for a put on that hog, Mama, you gonna be in heaven." He laughed his high-pitched laugh again, then knocked three times on the bathroom door. From inside came the sound of a shower.
"See you, baby. Me and your mama's been makin' it up. I promised her a ride on my Evo," he shouted.
He looked toward Grace, who was only partially confused by his biker's talk, which had evolved for his generation. Jason had had a bike when they were going together. He winked again, cupped his crotch, then made a good-bye gesture with two fingers.
"You didn't use a condom," Grace said, suddenly frightened by what she had observed.
"Looked like nice, clean meat to me," the young man said, punching Grace lightly on the arm. Shaking his head, he swaggered out of the front door. Moments later, she heard him gun the motorcycle and roar away.
Grace sat down at the table and tried to calm down. The young man was positively awful. She shivered with fright. Her hands shook. The sense of her parenting failure was overwhelming. She wished she could cry, but she couldn't. After awhile, the bathroom door opened and Jackie, wearing a robe, a towel wrapped around her head and looking remarkably fresh and unruffled, came out. There was not a sign of contrition on her face.
"You weren't supposed to be home," Jackie said.
Grace looked up. Jackie without makeup was radiant, a vision of the unspoiled, virginal, hardly the image of the wanton sexpot she had just seen squirming on her bed.
"I can't believe this, Jackie," Grace said, shaking her head.
"Mom. It happened, okay? Maybe if I had a car..."
"Good God!"
"Darryl's been taking me to school on his hog for the past month. So I cut Phys Ed this morning. He was going to take me back for afternoon classes. What's the big deal?"
"The boy's a horror. Did you see that knife he carries, and those swastikas? He's what they call a skinhead." She was choking with anger. It was bad enough to have witnessed her daughter's sexual escapade with this man, not to have it compounded by what she perceived as the dark ugliness of his character.
"So what? He knows what he's doing."
"You're jailbait, Jackie. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"Perfectly. And I had better not hear it again."
Grace could see that she had gone too far. But the implied threat was ominous.
"This is not the way you've been brought up, Jackie."
"Stop that crap, Mom. I don't think we want to talk about the way I was brought up. Hell, I'm the daughter of two losers."
"And you seem to be heading in that direction yourself," Grace said, fighting to remain calm.
"Monkey sees, monkey does," Jackie muttered.
"He seems ... subhuman." Grace sucked in a deep breath. Her frustration was acute as she searched her mind for ways to admonish her daughter that wouldn't make things worse than they already were. "You keep talking about your champagne tastes. It's sickening, trading your body for a lousy ride to school. And with that ... that Nazi."
"All right, Mother, you've made your point," Jackie sneered, pouting with typical adolescent indignation. "At least he has the courage of his convictions. He's making a statement."
"A statement? It's a curse. The Nazis were worse than devils," Grace cried.
"Come on, Mom. Cool out," Jackie said, resorting to her usual ploy when the argument between them grew too heated. "Don't be so old-fashioned. I think he's cute is all. It's all for effect. And riding his hog is a lot better than the school bus. Besides, I get a lot of respect from the kids...."
"Respect!"
"Have you forgotten what it is to be young?"
Always that, Grace thought. Emphasizing the generational disparity, throwing it up to her as the root of their misunderstanding.
"I haven't forgotten what it means to be a parent, Jackie. You're sixteen. That's still a kid in my book. And legally you're still under my jurisdiction."
"Again, legally! Jesus, Mom. What are you gonna do, hire a lawyer?"
"Well, it's obvious we need some kind of help here. Maybe a counselor. Really, Jackie, things are getting out of hand. You're my only child. I love you and I hate what you're doing to yourself."
"You sure are making a big deal out of nothing, Mom."
Jackie shrugged, but Grace could see that her burst of rebelliousness had softened.
"Please, Mom. I love you. I really do. Don't force me to say things that are hurtful."
"Hurtful? What I just witnessed was hurtful."
"Mom. I haven't been a virgin since I was thirteen. You knew that. I'm on the Pill. You knew that, too. I felt horny. Darryl is not anyone I'd choose for a serious relationship. He's got a good body and is good in the sack and I like him a lot. I know he seems weird, but he serves my needs."
"He scares the shit out of me, Jackie. That shaved head, that ugly knife and those Nazi things...."
"Turns me on, Mom," Jackie quipped. "Just don't worry so much. I can handle him."
"Handle him? You shouldn't even go near him," Grace sighed, feeling suddenly nauseous. She did know about Jackie's sexual proclivities but had never brought herself to picture her doing it, actually having sex. Except for dire warnings, they had never discussed it in intimate or graphic terms. She supposed it was a form of denial. Or acceptance. She wasn't sure which. What made it even more terrible was that it was being done in her bed, her own private place. It added to her sense of violation.
"He's a low-life slob, Jackie. White trash," she managed to say.
"That's Darryl's biker image, Mom. Macho man. So he's a skinhead, but don't let his macho talk fool you. He's smart."
"I forbid you to see him," Grace said.
"Forbid? Now you're my jailer."
Grace sighed in despair.
"This isn't fair, Jackie," Grace said. "It's a worry we don't need. Why can't you size up this situation...?"
"Worry about yourself, Mom. I'm perfectly capable of watching out for myself. Haven't you always taught me the value of self-reliance? Hell, last year you got me the Book of Virtues, remember?"
On a whim, Grace had picked it up at a secondhand bookstand. She thought the title apt but hadn't read it herself.
"I thought you might learn something." She shrugged.
Jackie harrumphed with mocking humor, unwrapping the turban and starting to towel dry her hair.
"This is serious, Jackie."
"That's the problem." Jackie moved the towel vigorously.
"I don't want to see this ever again," Grace said, recognizing the weakness and futility of her warning, deliberately shifting the focus of the argument. She knew in her heart that Jackie would defy her admonition. "And I don't want to come home to this. Do you read me? In my bed, no less?"
"What about self-control? Morals?"
"Morals? Really, Mom. What's wrong with getting laid? It's a normal thing. And it feels good. I mean, do you really believe I don't know about that dildo in your drawer? I never asked. But why don't you look for the real thing? Believe me, I'll respect your privacy."
"It's ... it's dangerous..." Grace cried, her face flushing, hating the idea of her little secret revealed. She felt she was floundering somewhere in a time warp. "He wasn't wearing a condom. Haven't you heard about AIDS?"
"Mom, he's not diseased. He's very clean. Don't you think I look first?"
The image that statement summoned up was the last straw.
"Are you totally ignorant, Jackie?" Grace shouted. "You can't see a virus. It's terminal."
"He's not gay, Mom. And I never let him..."
"Enough," Grace said, standing up. She felt herself on the other side of anger, something akin to disbelief. She was not a prude or a fool. Yes, she had known that an older boy had deflowered Jackie at a beachside party. She had cried then, more out of her sense of powerlessness over her daughter's life and the realization that her child's girlhood had ended. She was, by biological definition, a woman, or so the act seemed to herald. But the fact was, it was a false positive. It was obvious that Jackie's emotional maturity hadn't yet caught up with her hormonal development. Would it ever? Grace wondered, dreading her daughter's future.
Jackie hadn't mourned the end of her virgin state. She reveled in it. She had been positively celebratory, just as she had been when she had her first period. Grace, being an enlightened mother, not like her own, had whisked her to a gynecologist. The doctor prescribed birth control pills, along with dire warnings about the dangers of promiscuity, all of which Jackie had apparently ignored.
"You just can't bed down with anyone who asks," Grace said, searching for some common ground.
"I don't, Mom. What do you think I am? I told you. The reason I ball Darryl is he's good at it."
"Jesus, Jackie," Grace sighed. "Will pregnancy be next?"
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm very religious about taking my pills."
Grace shook her head, feeling the total loss of all parental authority. She supposed it was partially her fault, acknowledging that concerned parenting had taken a backseat to sheer economic survival. Surely Jackie could not doubt that her mother loved her. That was a given. As a single mother, she had tried her best to shelter her daughter from the dangers of living on the edge of economic disaster. Hadn't she been dutiful, concerned and protective during the early years, before the hormonal rush had diluted her control over her daughter's life?
It was all coping now, dealing with issues of parenting only when they arrived on her doorstep. It was almost impossible to make the right decisions every time one was required. The best she could do was to live in hope that mother and daughter could surmount the problems of the teen years and look forward to a better future for both of them. The shock of observing her daughter in this shameless exhibition had exposed Grace's failure as a role model and a mother.
All right, she conceded, she did have sex with Jason before they were married. It felt normal, just as long as it was exclusive and private. Her mother, the papal groupie, would never believe such a thing could happen. She would be the last person on earth for her to confide in. The woman would have spent overtime in the confessional and doubled her prayers for her daughter's soul. Her father, the barber, would have been oblivious, disbelieving and indifferent. The act of sex, after years of deprivation, would not be in his frame of reference.
The image of the little man with the thick Italian accent appeared in her mind. A decent, compassionate man, he had endured the woman who was her mother until her death. More fanatical than a nun, Mama Sorentino's life revolved around the Church and the confessional. She had believed that somehow Grace, her only child, had been responsible for killing the fertility of her womb. Such an attitude did not make for a particularly joyous maternal relationship.
Yet she did love her father, the long-suffering, inarticulate Carmine, who had been liberated at last when his wife had gone to her great reward. Could anyone have known that Grace had shed tears of joy at her graveside, celebrating the little man's freedom? He still cut hair, played checkers with his cronies, smoked ropy Italian cigars and lived above his little shop in Baltimore.
She called him once a week. The conversation was always stilted, the communication sparse. But somehow she sensed that he took comfort in just hearing her voice. The words hardly mattered.
"Maybe we should confide more in each other," Grace said to Jackie, choosing the path of placation rather than confrontation.
"Mom, we do confide."
"Not enough."
"Mom, I can't tell you everything. Not everything."
Grace sucked in a deep breath. What more could she be hiding?
"You don't tell me everything, Mom," Jackie said, planting a kiss on her mother's check. Grace felt suddenly grateful that her daughter had not accused her of being jealous of her pleasure. Such an accusation would be unnerving, hateful, although it was a real possibility. It had to be in Jackie's thoughts, Grace was certain, grateful for the repression. Perhaps, after all, she had raised a daughter with some character. Or were such thoughts on her part merely a form of denial?
"I better get dressed, Mom. Phys Ed I can miss, not math. Lose one day and it's worse the next."
"I'll drive you," Grace said, welcoming this chance at repairing her relationship with her daughter.
"Great, Mom. Just great."
Again she kissed her on the cheek, then bounced into the bathroom.
In a few minutes, Jackie was dressed, looking every bit the prim high school junior. It was hard to reconcile this image of the wide-eyed teenager with the girl wrapped around the naked form of the young man.
They got into Grace's Volkswagen.
"It's not—what did he call it?— an Evo something, but it will have to do," she said, suddenly remembering Jason's motorcycle, which he had taught Grace to operate. It wasn't a Harley-Davidson, but it had its share of bells and whistles and, for a while, it was Jason's pride and joy. Perhaps there was some truth in Jackie's remark. Maybe she had forgotten what it was to be young. But that didn't negate her dark feelings about Darryl and the danger he posed for Jackie.
"Darryl doesn't ask everyone, Mom. He says it's a privilege."
"I wish you wouldn't," Grace said, starting the car and backing it out of the parking space.
"Wish I wouldn't what?"
"Go near him."
Jackie shook her head, falling into silence.
"We're like two ships passing in the night," Grace said when they were heading toward Jackie's school.
"All in all, I think we do okay for a mother and daughter," Jackie said. "I know girls who tell their parents nothing. And I mean, there's lots to tell."
"I worry about you, Jackie."
"And I worry about you, Mom. Really I do. I would love it if you found a guy." Jackie turned to Grace and smiled, showing her glistening white teeth. "Like today. Maybe if we could devise a kind of signal that the apartment was in use, we could avoid the ... you know ... anyway, you wouldn't have been that upset."
"On top of everything, your stud socked me in the stomach," Grace blurted.
"That's because he was frustrated. Don't you know about men, Mom? Because of your interruption, he didn't get off. That's a sure road to male hostility. They get real nasty when they get to a certain point and don't get it off."
"I appreciate the insight," Grace muttered, astonished, wondering how her child had acquired such knowledge.
Up to then, Grac
e thought she had heard everything.
"It happens to women, too. I already came two or three times. I was just about to finish him."
"Jesus, Jackie. Where do you get all this?"
"From life's experiences, Mom. But this I can tell you honestly: I don't drink and I don't do drugs. There, doesn't that put your mind at ease?"
Did it really? She wasn't sure. But she did wonder who was the mother and who was the daughter in this relationship. The fact was that she felt inept and an abysmal failure as a parent.
"Maybe I'm naive," Grace sighed, half to herself.
The school loomed into view, and Jackie checked her makeup in the visor mirror. But as the car slowed, Jackie turned to her suddenly.
"Why were you home so early?"
"I was fired," Grace said, actually enjoying the revelation. She watched her daughter frown and shake her head.
"Are you serious?" Jackie asked, studying her face.
"I was rude to one of their best customers."
"You were? That wasn't smart."
"I know. It was dumb."
"So what will we do now?"
Grace shrugged.
"I'm entitled to unemployment. That will give me some breathing room."
"Breathing room? We've never had that."
"Don't worry, darling. I have plans."
"I guess that means the Donna Karan is out," Jackie said, pouting.
"Afraid so," Grace said.
"Not to mention the possibility of a car."
"It was never a possibility, Jackie."
"Shit, Mom. How could you be so stupid?"
"It's inherited."
"From who?"
"From you, Jackie. I inherited it from you."
It was supposed to elicit a laugh from Jackie. It didn't. She had stopped the car in front of the school entrance. Jackie started to get out, then scrutinized her mother's face.
"Sometimes I worry about you, Mom," Jackie said, shaking her head. She kissed her mother on the cheek and bounced out of the car. Grace watched her until her eyes filled with tears and Jackie became a blur in the distance.
She drove west on the Tamiami Trail, in the opposite direction of her apartment. That was the last place she wanted to be. Her sense of failure was acute. The events of the morning had been a massive blow to her self-esteem.